


Killiing Yourself To Live

by Sashataakheru



Category: The Move RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Asexuality, Body Dysphoria, Community: queer_bigbang, Druids, F/M, Finding your place, M/M, Marijuana, Masturbation, Paranoia, Prosthetics, Recreational Drug Use, Rock 'n Roll, Sex, Sex Toys, Shelter, Stonehenge - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Survival, attempted suicide, childhood trauma and abuse, chosen family, consensual underage sexual situations, medical transition, mental illness depression, relationships, rewriting old fics, solstice rituals, weird spiritual shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 83,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2551352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ace knew he was male from the time he could form thoughts, but the fight to live the way he wants comes at a heavy cost. When Bev lost his dad, it offered an opportunity to transition that he may not get again. They meet at the Pie Stand one night after a gig, neither are aware of how important their relationship will ultimately become as they fight to establish their place in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Girl Outside

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Girl Outside](https://archiveofourown.org/works/216695) by [Sashataakheru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru). 



> Written for Queer Big Bang 2014, as a reworking of a queer_fest fic from 2011, [The Girl Outside](http://archiveofourown.org/works/216695/chapters/325865), to make it better tell the story I wanted to tell. I mean, on the whole, The Girl Outside is a good story for what it is, but in trying to shoehorn the idea into the prompt, I felt the original story was compromised. The prompt wanted to focus on class differences being related to transitioning experiences, but for this story, for the original idea, that was just never that significant. 
> 
> There are a few sections from the original fic that remain in this one, but for the most part, it's new words. I took the opportunity to flesh things out, and re-edit, do a proper Britpick, and write scenes I either hadn't thought of, or didn't have space for, in the original fic. Their childhood years are much more fleshed out than they were in the original, because it always bothered me that those early scenes felt more like memory than scenes involving real characters. So I hope it's better now. 
> 
> As of 2/11/14, this is actually only the first three chapters, covering the period from 1953 to 1961. I still have two more chapters to finish editing, because of time constraints and, well, it is NaNo month. The last two chapters should be up in December, or in January 2015. I wanted the time to finish them properly, because there are things involved that require proper research, and I want to get the story right. So enjoy the first thee chapters, and come back in a month or two for when it's completed.
> 
> ETA 23/02/2017: Two more chapters posted, covering 1962-1964! Once I flesh out the next chapter, covering the early year or two of The Move, that'll get done. Then I'll figure the rest out. I have a lot of ground to cover, if my current level of detail is repeated.

_Yardley Wood, Birmingham, March 1953_  
He ran down the street, unable to stop his crying. His mother had put him in a dress again, and he decided to run away, rather than face another day in another dress that he was sure he was never meant to wear. He was most certainly not a girl, never felt he ever was one, and his mother's inability to cope with that had made his life miserable. He'd told her he was a boy on his third birthday, three long years ago, but it hadn't helped. All it did was make them all mad at him. 

He wasn't sure where he was going. He just needed to get away from the loud, noisy house where there was no room, too many people, not enough food, not enough of anything. Where they wouldn't cut his hair short, and kept putting him in dresses. He pulled the ribbons from his hair as he ran, letting them fall to the road. The dress was harder to dispose of, but he tore at it as he went, hating how it clung to his body. His bare feet, bloody from the sharp wet stones on the road, kept him going.

He slipped into a back yard a couple of streets away, if only because the gate was open, and he made his way to the shed, shutting himself away in the dark in the hopes he wouldn't be found at all. He finally took the dress off, and left it on the floor. He didn't care how cold it was. He would rather freeze than wear a dress. Curling up on it, he shivered and cried, unsure what else to do. He wasn't left alone for long. He buried his head under his arms as the shed door opened, and a matronly woman gazed down at him. 

"What're you doing hiding out here, pet? You'll catch your death out here. Come on, come inside. You tell old Mary what's wrong," she said.

He shied away at first, but he was cold, and hungry, and perhaps she'd be nice enough not to take him back to his house, at least, not right away. Drying his eyes as he got up, he left the dress behind as he took her hand and followed her back inside. 

She wrapped him in a blanket and set him by the fire with a mug of warm milk. He wasn't sure he trusted her just yet, but she didn't ask for explanations, and just let him sit and warm up on his own, occasionally checking in to see if he was alright. It did feel good to be warm, though. The icy chill of winter was still hanging in the air, and the wind still froze him to the bone, lying out there in the shed. His house was cold, too. He always felt cold. He didn't know why she was being nice to him, though. He wondered what she wanted from him. Maybe she would just hand him back to his parents anyway. That's generally what happened when people were nice to him. They were trying to make him behave. 

He watched her guardedly as she came into the front room and took a seat nearby. She looked nice enough, but he just couldn't bring himself to trust her, not yet. He wanted to, though, if she didn't hurt him.

"You got a name, pet?" Mary asked.

He shook his head. "Jus' a bad name."

"What's bad about it? Don't you like it?" 

"'S a girl's name. 'm not a girl."

Mary offered a curious glance. "Oh, aye? Is that so? So what do you call yerself then?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Dunno. Nothing, really."

"I've got to call you something. If you're not a girl, we'd better find a nice boy's name for you, hadn't we, pet?" Mary said.

He shrugged again. "I 'spose. Dunno why I need a name. No one ever uses it. No one believes me when I said I'm a boy."

Mary seemed to accept this. "Alright. How do you know you're a boy, then?"

"I jus' - know. I don't like being called a girl. 'm not a girl. But no one believes me," he said. "You're not gonna send me home, are you? I don't wanna go home. I don't like being at home. No one likes me. They hurt me."

"I can't keep you here forever. I'm sure your parents can take you back whenever they like. They're your parents, after all. But you can stay a while, if you like. It's nice to have a child in the house again. I've missed my boy so much since, well, since the war," Mary said, her voice softening with melancholy.

He looked up at her, confused. "What happened to your boy?" 

"Same as happened to many. But you're too young to have your head filled with that nonsense. How bout I call you John? That's a good name for a boy," Mary said.

"Was your boy named John?" he asked.

Mary nodded. "He was, yes. You're a bright lad, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Maybe." He thought a moment. "Jus' call me 'Boy', 'm not ready for names yet."

"Suit yourself, then. Now, how bout we get you some clothes to wear? You must be freezing," Mary said.

He almost wanted to say no, but she didn't call him a girl, even though he'd told her. Perhaps she might be a friend to him, after all. She lifted him to his feet and took him off to wash him, getting rid of the dirt. She also cleaned and bandaged his cut feet, and while they hurt a little to walk on, he did begin to feel better about it. He'd never had anyone tend to his injuries before, either, nor had anyone ever bathed him, not like that. It was a strange experience, one he was not sure how to accept.

He sat on the floor by the fire once he was cleaned up, and wrapped himself in the blanket again as Mary sat nearby, sewing him a new pair of trousers, a shirt, and a jacket. He was scared about wearing them home, because he knew at some point, he'd be going home. He was afraid he'd be beaten again. His mother would probably ruin them so he couldn't wear them again. Maybe he should keep them here instead, and come back for them. Maybe he could just wear them at Mary's house, so they'd be safe. Maybe he should just stay with Mary. She would take care of him. 

As he looked up at her to see how she was getting on, he saw one of his sisters through the window approaching the house, and he scrambled behind the chair, hoping he hadn't been seen. 

Mary turned to him. "You alright, lad? What's scared you?"

"Is my big sister. Don't let her take me away. I wanna stay here with you," he said, keeping his voice low.

There was a knock on the door then, and Mary reluctantly got up to answer it. He stayed where he was, cowering under the blanket. He pressed his hands over his ears, hoping he wouldn't hear them having an argument again. He didn't like it when people started shouting. 

"Alright, come here, ya mardy bab. Mum's so mad at you," said a voice as he felt his arm being grasped tightly through the blanket.

"No, no, I won't go. Don't take me home. I wanna stay here with Mary," he replied, eyes wet with tears.

His fight was in vain. His sister was too strong, and merely picked him up in her arms. He tried to fight her, but he thought that might just get him beaten even worse. He took one last look at Mary as he was carried off, wondering if he'd ever see her again.

He ran to the attic once it was all over. He hadn't need to be banished there, not this time. He found his way in the darkness to the thin mattress lying near the far side of the space and curled up on it, dragging a blanket over him as he wept.

* * *

He'd been kept close by all week, just to make sure he didn't run off again. He didn't understand why his mother suddenly seemed to care where he was. It's not like she'd really cared before. He'd spent days wandering off, and hiding away, and she hadn't cared. But she did now, and if she wasn't keeping a close eye on him, his siblings were. He wished he didn't have an older sister at school with him, because she made sure he came home every day, and stayed home. She wouldn't be at school with him much longer, because she was in her final year of primary school, but that wasn't the point.

Feeling trapped like this was a new feeling, and it made him irritable, which in turn made everyone else irritable. The house had been a stressful wreck all week. When he could sneak down to the front room, he would sit in the window, and stare down the street, wishing he could escape and go back to Mary's house. It was all he wanted. He knew everyone would be happier if his mother just let him go live there, but she insisted on keeping him in, and then blamed him for all the arguments. He felt he couldn't really win, no matter what he did.

He'd spent a few days in the attic when he wasn't out at school. He needed the relative peace it brought, and it kept him from getting in his mother's way. It was the warmest part of the whole house, and he hid things up here where his mother couldn't find them. He hid tins of food and toys and books, anything he could get his hands on and squirrel away for another day. He was lucky no one else ever went up there, because he felt confident no one would ever find his things. Everything he cared about was hidden up there, because if he left it back down in the house, it might get wrecked or thrown out, because they didn't care about his things, anyway. It made him sad, but at least he had his secret place. 

Up there, he planned his future, if he was able to make it all come true. He'd run away and find that nice lady to live with, and she'd take care of him better than his mother would. He'd find himself a good name, a boy name, and everyone would believe him when he said that's what he was. He'd never be cold or hungry or unloved ever again, and he'd grow up to be the best boy he could possibly be, and prove his mother wrong. He'd play football for England, go to university, do something amazing no one in his family had ever done before, because he was better than them. He needed to believe things would get better now, or he'd cry, and he'd done so much crying over the past week. It had never really helped, and it hadn't brought him any comfort, but he still cried, and still hoped for something better. There had to be something better. His life wasn't going to stay like this, would it? Or would he rot away in an attic because his mother hated him? Maybe he should look for a way out, an escape route, should he need to run away.

He snuck down and stole some more food as he made his plans. He couldn't get out of the house, as the doors were locked, and he knew he wasn't strong enough to open a window and climb through. So he would have to find another chance to escape. When he saw his mother leave one Saturday morning, he thought he'd found his chance. His siblings were out playing, and his father was away again, and now his mother had left him alone in the house. Gathering his things, he crept down and tried the door. He was able to unlock it, and sensing his freedom, he snuck out, and without looking back, made a run for it, heading back down to Mary's house.

He snuck around the back, and went over to the shed, where he planned to hide away. He had just opened the door when he heard Mary calling from the back door.

"And where might you be going, pet? You going to hide in my shed again?" 

He froze, and hoped she wasn't angry at him. He heard her come over to him, and she rested a hand on his shoulder, just waiting. "Mum's been keeping me locked up. Didn't want me seeing you. I just wanted to see you again, cos you were nice to me, and you're the first person like ever who believes me. I'd rather be here with you."

She sighed, and rubbed his back, understanding his dilemma. "Where's your mum then, is she out? Is that how you got out?"

He nodded. "I was up in the attic. I saw her leave, and took a chance. It was then or never, I reckon."

"Come on in, then. You can stay til your mum gets back, alright?" Mary said.

He looked up at her, and smiled back, glad for her offer of safety, if for a while. She led him inside, and he felt so happy to be called a boy. Mary cooked him a proper breakfast, and gave him hugs, and he was sure he never wanted to leave. He made himself remember everything that happened, every single happy thing, so that later when he was back up it the attic, nursing his wounds, he could remember what it felt like to be happy. 

"So, do you still want me to call you, 'boy', then? Or should we pick a better name for you? If you're going to keep turning up, I'd at least like to have a name for you, something you pick that you're happy with," Mary said.

He frowned at the suggestion. It wasn't as if he hadn't been thinking about it. He'd spent some time in the attic writing out a list of names he liked. "I dunno yet. I still haven't decided yet. I made a list, though."

"Oh? And what names were on this list, then?" Mary asked, intrigued.

He got down from the chair, and rummaged around in his pack for the list he'd made. Returning to his chair, he flattened the piece of paper and read the names he'd listed. His handwriting wasn't particularly neat, but everything was spelled correctly. "Um, James. Maybe Thomas? John. Christopher. William. I also had, um, Daniel. Maybe? I don't know. I don't know which one I like. Do you like any of them?"

Mary took the list and considered his choices. "I think you look like a Christopher. What do you think?"

He tilted his head to the side as he thought about that. He'd got the name from a book he'd read at school, about a bear and his toy animal friends and the adventures they'd had in the woods. The toys belonged to a boy named Christopher Robin. He'd read the book many times now, always dreaming of finding them in the woods and playing with them. Anything to escape the attic.

"Christopher? Maybe," he replied. 

"I think it's a good boy name for you. You can shorten it to Chris, if you want," Mary said.

He took the list again, and silently mouthed each name, trying to see if it fit him. "Christopher James. I like those two the best," he said eventually,, pointing shyly at the names on the paper.

Mary smiled, approving of the name. "Christopher James, hey? I think that suits you very well. Do you want me to call you Chris or Christopher?" 

He shrugged. "I guess Chris will do."

Mary nodded. "Chris it is, then. That's a bit better than just calling you 'boy', isn't it?" 

He supposed it was. "Yeah, I guess."

"Take your time getting used to it. I think it's a lovely name," Mary said.

"An' it's not my girl name either. I hate my girl name. It's horrible," he said.

"Aye, it would be for you. Don't fret about it. I won't use it if you don't want me to. I'll call you whatever name you like. You just let me know," Mary said.

"Thanks, Mary. Thank you for - for listening to me, an' fer letting me stay, for a while. I won't be any trouble, I promise," he said, reaching for another hug.

Mary brought him into her arms, hugging him tight. He smiled, and for a moment, his eyes seemed to sparkle with life. "You're welcome any time, pet. If you ever need me, just come running, and I'll be there, alright? You look like you could use a friend in this world."

* * *

_Sparkhill, Birmingham, May 1953_  
Peering out from behind a tree, Bev grinned as she spotted her friends, Mark and Bill, manning the barricades of the castle they'd built out of an old wooden pallet, and some bits of timber they'd found lying around. It wasn't a very sophisticated castle, but it did have a ditch for a moat, and a draw bridge, and it sat on a high point such that bombarding enemies was easy to do, if you saw them coming. Bev was hoping they wouldn't see her coming this time.

She let the small pebbles run through her fingers as they sat idly in her coat pocket. She never tried to hurt them, of course, but she'd sported just as many bruises from them that they did, which made her feel proud. She could fight just as well as they could. Glancing to the side, she checked to see that her companion was in place. Tony lived down the road from her, and Bev was almost willing to admit that perhaps she coerced him to play more than anything, but if he would let her order him about... 

She signalled to Tony to move ahead, and as silently as they could both muster, they crept forward, advancing down the tree line to get a closer shot, and to find better cover. They would not be met with a welcome, so finding the best spot to attack from was half the chore of victory. She'd sighted a spot off to the left where they weren't quite able to see properly. If she could get a few lobbed in there, and take them by surprise, she could distract them while Tony ran up the other side. 

"Oi, are you going to attack any time soon? It's nearly time for tea," came a voice from the castle.

"Yeah, we ain't got all day, Bev. Unless you're too chicken to attack us. We're brave strong knights, us, aren't we?" 

Bev smiled to herself, grabbed a nearby stick to use as a sword, and crept round into position. Her dynamite plan to creep up and distract them was clearly not going to work this time, so she would just have to see if force would work instead. She sent one last order to Tony, and got ready to pounce. 

"Surrender, or we'll blow you to pieces! For England!" Bev cried as she charged forward, Tony not far behind her.

"Over our dead bodies! Vive le France! You'll never defeat us!" Bill shouted in return, preparing to launch their defence.

She was met with a hail of pebbles, but she wasn't hit. Clambering up the hill, she returned fire, and tried to find the easiest place to storm the castle walls. Noticing the ground was wet, she made some impromptu mud pies to throw, and that caught them by surprise. Tony made it through, and Bev was close behind him, as they made it over the walls, and took the castle for themselves. 

"Alright, alright, we surrender!" Mark said, capitulating as Bev wrestled him to the ground. "You fight so dirty for a girl, you know."

Bev smiled as she pinned him, grabbing the pennant from him to seal her victory. "Never said I was much of a girl, did I? You just need to fight better. Or are you afraid of being beaten by a girl?" 

"You're not much of a girl, if you're anything to go by. It's hardly that humiliating," Mark said, trying to glean some respectability from the jaws of defeat.

"Yeah, I don't know any girls like you. You fight like a boy. Maybe you are one," Bill said.

Bev grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment. You should know, after all. You did teach me everything I know about how to fight like a boy."

"Oi!" Mark cried and attempted to fight back, but Bev was in a better position, and kept him pinned down. "Alright, alright, you win, I surrender."

Satisfied, Bev got to her feet and helped Mark up. Their rivalry was always over once the pennant was taken. Then they were just mates. 

"You coming round for tea, then? Mum said you're welcome. Besides, you're all covered in mud," Bev said.

Mark glanced at Bill. "I think we'd better, hey? Mum'll kill us if we turn up looking like this."

"Least you got a mum," Tony said, the slightest hint of bitterness in his voice. 

"You've got Bev, ain't you, Tony?" Mark joked.

Tony offered a bashful expression, and Bev grabbed his arm. "Come on, you're coming too. I ain't leaving you behind. Got in trouble for that last time."

Extracting themselves from the castle, and aware of the growing dark of the sky, they set off through the woods back home, Bev celebrating her victory with a certain amount of pride and a string of all the insults she knew, as well as a few she'd just made up.

* * *

"Oh, Beverley, you were clean and presentable when I sent you out to play, and now look at you. I hope you don't expect to come in like that."

Bev grinned as she greeted her mother, who was out on the front step waiting for her. She was used to the look of disappointment on her mother's face when she came home covered in mud, but she rather took it in her stride. It wasn't like her mother ever stopped her playing with her friends, or from playing in the woods. She rather felt that her mother would keep her inside all the time if she really cared that much about how dirty she got. 

"Oh, no, of course not. Do you want me to go round the back?" Bev said.

"You'd better. I don't mind you getting filthy, but your father does. You and your," there was a sigh as she saw Bev's friends looking equally as filthy, "friends had better go round and get cleaned up. Tea's in fifteen minutes. Mind you don't go getting mud everywhere. And clean your shoes this time, you hear?"

"Yes, mother!" Bev called as she headed down the back, leading her friends with her.

Slipping through a gate, and heading across next door's yard, Bev took them into her back yard, where they were allowed to throw off their muddy clothes and get changed. It happened so often they all had spare changes of clothes at Bev's house, which Bev's mother washed for a couple of shillings in return for feeding grubby children. It seemed a fair exchange, particularly given Tony's dad worked late, and wasn't always able to get home in time for tea. His mother had died a few years ago, leaving them to soldier on together. Sometimes, Bev felt Tony was a surrogate sibling, given how often he stayed over at her place. 

Bev was sure she was meant to feel some sort of shame as she undressed with her friends. The girls at school would never have dared to do what she was doing, particularly when boys were present, but Bev rather thought they didn't have as much fun as she did. She was used to it, anyway, and there was no sense in being shy about it, not when tea was at hand. She left her dirty clothes in the tub outside and cleaned her shoes to her mother's satisfaction. 

"You always look so weird in a dress, Bev," Mark said as he watched Bev awkwardly pull her clean dress on. 

Bev did her best to straighten the skirt. She felt she looked weird, too. "I know, but I can't hardly go clambering 'round the woods in this, can I?" 

"Who'd be a girl, hey?" Mark teased.

"You, you bloody lout!" Bev shot back as she splashed him with water from the tub. 

Mark shielded himself, but it wasn't much use. He splashed her back, and she laughed, and then she started chasing him round the yard as he tried to get his shirt on at the same time. To their credit, by the time they were called in for tea, they were still mostly clean, an achievement Bev was very pleased with, even if she was wearing a dress.

* * *

"Sometimes, I don't think I'm really a girl," Bev whispered into the darkness. She turned to Tony's sleeping figure, lying on the floor beside her bed, hoping he was still awake. 

Tony seemed to spend a moment thinking about her words before he turned over and looked up at her. She sat up, and he crawled up onto her bed. It was late. They were both meant to be asleep by now, but it always took them a while to get to bed. Bev sometimes had to talk about things that she couldn't talk about to her parents, and without any other siblings, Tony was usually subjected to them when he had to stay over. The topic of this particular conversation was not new, either; they had discussed this many times, though they'd never really found any answers. 

"What do you mean, you're not really a girl?" Tony asked.

Bev drew her knees to her chest. "It's just ... sometimes, when we're out in the woods, I forget I'm a girl. I'm just a kid out there. But then I remember when I put a dress on, and I feel weird about it."

Tony scratched his head. "So be a boy then? I mean, you do look weird in a dress. Even your mum thinks so."

"Mum says I'm tall for my age. Maybe that's why I look weird. I'm taller than all the other girls in my class. She has to keep lengthening the skirts so they fit me properly," Bev said. 

"It's not that. You don't wear 'em right, either, not like the other girls. You sit differently, like a boy," Tony said.

"I dream about being a boy sometimes. I have a boy's body, short hair, that sort of thing. That's weird too. I don't know if that's really me, either. Sometimes I wonder if my dad would've preferred a son rather than a daughter. I mean, it's not like he loves me any less as a girl, but maybe we'd be closer," Bev murmured, unsure. She thought a moment, then sighed. "Maybe I should've been a boy."

"Well, you don't really act much like a girl. Sometimes I forget too. You're not like the other girls, anyway," Tony said.

Bev scrunched her nose up. "Well, I don't really like the other girls. They're so boring! None of them ever want to play. They want to sit around with their dolls instead having tea parties. They got these daft little faces. I don't like them."

"Yeah, I don't understand girls," Tony said.

"Yeah, me neither."

None of this particularly helped Bev at all. She still felt like a girl who acted like a boy, and who was also not really committed to being either. She didn't really see a girl or a boy when she looked at herself in the mirror. She just saw herself. She felt those labels were what other people called her, rather than something she'd chosen herself. But she didn't really know what to do about that.

* * *

_Yardley Wood, January 1955_  
Chris found himself gazing out the classroom window again. The snow was beginning to fall, covering the grounds with a thick white blanket. It made him shiver at the prospect of having to walk home in it. It wasn't a long walk, but that wasn't the point. It would also mean leaving school, and going home. He never liked going home. He felt he might've been happier if he'd been able to see Mary more often than he had. His parents and his siblings watched him like a hawk now, stopping him from escaping to her house very often. He'd made it a few times, though, and he held onto the memories of those visits, when Mary would make him boy clothes, and sing to him, and talk to him as if he were her son. It was the only place he ever felt loved and cared for.

School was a distraction, more than anything else. He was a loner; not necessarily pushed around, but more often ignored. That he had to wear a girl's uniform didn't exactly help matters, but he felt powerless to protest. He'd tried in the past, of course, but it had just got him caned for his disobedience, so he'd decided it wasn't worth it. He spent most of his time off in his own little world, and while he was a decent enough student, and got decent grades, he was still prone to inattentiveness and he did skip school more often than he might have admitted. It wasn't because he didn't like it, but because he needed to get away from everyone. He needed to get away and walk the streets, and find places to hide. If his dad was home, he'd stay with him, and they'd build memories together. If he wasn't, he'd disappear to his safe places for a while, and return home when he felt less like the whole world was out to get him.

School was also terrible because they kept using the name he'd grown to hate. It had taken a few months to get used to calling himself Chris, but he quite liked it now, and he wished other people would use it when he corrected them. But he had no friends, so it didn't really matter. It did matter, of course, but he felt powerless to choose, and enforce his name. He knew well enough that his family would never accept him as a boy. They constantly belittled his choices and identity, refusing to believe he was who he said he was. His brother had increasingly tried to beat it out of him, but it didn't work. Nothing ever worked, not for that. 

He was shoved and jostled as he fled the classroom at the end of the day. It was partly his own inattentiveness, lost in his own thoughts as he was. He wasn't exactly paying attention to where he was going, and everyone pushed past him. He was shoved into the door frame, which was enough to alert him to the fact he was now in pain, and had a graze near his ear and a sore shoulder. Withdrawing from his classmates, who roundly ignored him, he found his way out and fled, a wounded creature, looking for somewhere to hide.

It never took much to make him flee. Sometimes a light shove into a door frame was all it took. The snow didn't really help, of course, and he hardly felt like he was warm enough. Nowhere was warm, not really, except Mary's house. That thought propelled him forward, and he tried to remember the back way round so he could slip into her house without passing his own. It wasn't always an easy thing to do, as if he wasn't careful, someone would see him from a window, and come and get him. 

He was lucky that day. Clambering over the back fence into the back yard, he managed to make it without being caught. He sat on the back step, watching the snow falling. He didn't know if Mary was home; sometimes, that was never the point. Sometimes, he just needed to be near her house, to know it was a place that held happy memories for him, even if nowhere else did. He huddled into himself as the wind picked up. He noticed there was a hole in one of his mittens.

"Must've caught it on the fence," he muttered as he covered it up with his other hand. He blew into his hands, in a bid to warm them up. "Maybe I'll nick another pair later. Don't like cold hands."

He brought his knees to his chest, fighting off the cold. There wasn't any protection, not really, and the snow was beginning to fall harder. Maybe he ought to go home. He'd freeze out here if he wasn't careful. At least he might've been happy, at least for a moment, as he thought about Mary. 

"Jus' wanna be loved. Jus' wanna be me. 's not too much to ask, is it?" he murmured, unwilling to leave just yet, even though he could feel the snow falling on him. He wiped his tears away, not wanting them to freeze. 

He got up as the door opened, and he turned to see Mary standing there. She didn't speak, but brought him inside, out of the cold, brushing the snow off him. He took the hug she offered once the door was closed. 

"I thought you weren't here. I jus' - I needed you, an' I thought I was going to freeze to death. 'm not going to freeze to death, am I?" he said, finally able to breathe, knowing he was safe and warm.

"Oh, no, pet, you're not going to freeze just yet, not while I'm here. You should've knocked, I'd have come running, pet," Mary said. "Did something happen then? That why you came running here?"

He shrugged, half-heartedly. "Jus' - I needed to get away. Too much of that name I hate. Too much of everything."

Mary didn't question his words. Sometimes, he just couldn't explain why he needed to flee. "Come on, pet, let's get you warmed up."

He didn't want to let go of her as she took him through to the kitchen. She made him some warm milk and they went to sit by the fire together in the front room. He didn't need anything more than her company at that moment. He sat on the sofa, and she sat at her treadle sewing machine, finishing off the last of the shirts she'd promised to make for him last time he'd come round. 

Slowly, he warmed up. He listened to the sound of the crackling fire, and the whirr of the sewing machine, along with the clanking of the gears. It had become a comforting sound, to know there was someone caring about him. Mary stood him up after a while to see if he still fit his shirts, and then proceeded to make a few more adjustments. 

"You need to come round more often. You've half grown out of these shirts already. I'll have to measure you up again," Mary said, though she wasn't angry at him. 

Chris had to smile a little at that. "Least I'm growing. Mum never made me any clothes I liked."

"Go on, stand straight, arms out. I want to get this one right for you," Mary said, fishing out her measuring tape.

Chris did as he was told, and stood as still as possible while she measured him again, nothing them down in chalk on the now too small shirt she had been working on. "You can fix it, though, right?"

"Of course I can fix it. It's very important to make shirts you can resize easily. It's saved me a lot of money over the years when I needed it," Mary said.

"Have you been making clothes that long then?" Chris asked.

"Since well before you were born, lad. My mother taught me how to sew, and she taught me how to cook. She knew how to make sixpence last a fortnight, if given half a chance. Came in handy during the war. It got me through when nothing else did," Mary said.

Chris looked curious. "I don't remember any of that. Was it really terrible? My oldest sister said it was awful, like, when the city was bombed."

Mary nodded. "Awful doesn't even begin to explain it. I was stationed here during the bombing, working in the munitions factories. Nothing prepares you for seeing a city almost flattened overnight." She looked away for a moment, smiling forlornly. "But you don't want to be filling your head with my bad memories. It's enough that I have them."

"I can't sleep sometimes, because of bad dreams," Chris admitted. "They keep me awake. I dream of awful things."

"I bet you do, pet. Come here, and tell old Mary all about them. I'll make them all go away," she said, gesturing for him to sit on the sofa with her.

He curled up beside her, and as she held him close, he told her about his bad dreams. No one had ever listened to his bad dreams before. No one had ever listened to his good dreams, either, though he couldn't really remember if he'd ever had any good dreams at all. But Mary was listening. Mary kept all his secrets, and told him everything would be alright. She told him silly stories, and told him that wishing upon a star was a good way to get good dreams. She stroked his hair gently, and sung him lullabies, and when he began to drift off, she gently set him to sleep on the sofa, and wrapped him in a warm blanket, so she could watch over him as he slept.

It was late when he woke. The soft whirring of the sewing machine had woken him, but he didn't mind. He smiled as he saw Mary where she'd been before. She was still there, sewing things while he slept. As he sat up, he saw his oldest sister sitting there silently. He was suddenly panicked, and backed away, afraid of being taken from the one place he felt safe. 

"No, what're you doing here? I'm not going back. I'm not. You can't make me!" Chris said, pulling the blanket up around him as a form of protection.

"Calm down, will you? It's alright. I wondered where you were after school, and when you didn't show for supper, I went to look for you. I didn't think you'd gone anywhere else. Mrs Kilburn's explained it to me, about why you're here. I don't blame you, though. It really is quieter here, isn't it? You certainly seem happier. I don't think I've ever seen you smile before," she said.

"She cares about me. None of you care about me. You just hit me and call me a girl and throw me up in the attic. I'm not a girl. I'm not. I know what I am. Why won't you believe me?" Chris said.

"Are you still going on about that? I thought you'd grown out of it. Isn't that the sort of thing every young kid goes through? I remember being a horse one summer when I was little," his sister said.

"He's not every kid, my dear, trust me. When did you realise you were a girl, then, hmm?" Mary said, offering a challenge.

Chris watched his sister process that question, and offer up a confused and partly angry expression. "I just - I've always been a girl," she said, finally.

"He's always been a boy. You can't explain why you know you're a girl anymore than he can explain why he knows he's a boy. Even I can't explain it. But he's far less trouble when you just believe him, and treat him with a bit of love, you know. That's not too much to ask, is it?" Mary said.

His sister stood then, and grabbed Chris by the arm. "Come on, we're going home. If you're good, I won't tell mum where you've been."

Dragged to his feet, he was put in his coat and boots, as his sister dressed him. She gathered up his things, and led him out the door. He was able to say a quick goodbye, but then Mary's house began to be ever further away, and he felt like his heart had been ripped from him. 

He cried the rest of the way home, and ran to the attic, refusing to speak to them. He sung the lullabies Mary had taught him in a bid to calm himself, but all it did was make him miss her, and he clutched his bear close to his chest as he tried to sleep, trying to remember what it was like to be lulled off to sleep by her. How she gently touched him and sang to him, and cared for him. No one would do that here. They wouldn't come and sing to him and then tuck him into bed. They would leave him here, and ignore him. That was how it had always been, and he was sure that's how it would forever be if he stayed there any longer.

* * *

_Yardley Wood, Birmingham, April 1955_  
He'd feigned illness to avoid going to school again. His father was home for once, and he wanted to spend some time with him. He was sure he was the only one who preferred his dad to his mother. He understood him. His mother just used it as an excuse to tell him how mad he was because he spent so much time with his dad. Chris just thought she was jealous that he understood him better than she did. 

It had been three months since he'd last been to Mary's. His mother hadn't exactly stopped him going, but he'd been watched too closely to be able to escape again. It had made him miserable, but at least he knew he had somewhere safe to run to if it got bad enough he had to leave for good. He'd never admit he'd been planning for that eventuality for a year now, but it was always in the back of his mind. Leave, and go to Mary. Leave the family who didn't care about him behind. 

He'd always hesitate at that thought. His father was the one person in the house who didn't hate him. Leaving him for good would be hard to do, and he felt it might be why he never did leave home properly. As long as he was still there, he'd keep coming back. One ally in the house was better than none at all. He was sure things would be much worse for him if his father wasn't around to temper things. 

His dad was on the sofa, listening to the radio. Chris sat beside him, smiling at him. His dad was sick. There was something wrong with his head. That was how his mother had tried to explain it to him. He didn't really understand, and he wasn't sure he cared. His dad had never hurt him so why should he be afraid of him?

His dad was talking again, staring into space. Chris curled up beside him, and his dad brought an arm around him. They talked in the only way they knew how to talk. They shared a language that no one else knew. Chris understood him. 

His dad would always tell him stories about all sorts of magical places. Chris loved hearing about them, and he had his favourites too, like the land with the violet grass and the birds that grew strawberries. It had three suns that shone down on the land, and everyone was happy. They sung all the time, and if they weren't careful, they could sing things into being. Chris loved that idea so much he'd tried singing his own spells, but nothing ever happened. 

Sometimes, his dad said he could hear things. Sometimes, Chris was sure he could hear them too. He had told his mother about that once, but she'd said he was just imagining it. Chris wasn't so sure about that. 

He'd never been the best dad, and he wasn't always around because he was sick, but he was the only person in the house who'd ever showed Chris an ounce of kindness. He called him his son, and Chris could never quite find the right words to tell him how much he appreciated that. His dad believed him, even if no one else In the house did. Chris could forgive him his faults, just for that alone, even if his dad wasn't really with it half the time, lost in his own world of dreams. Chris liked escaping too, and he wondered if he wished hard enough whether he might finally turn into a proper boy. That would be nice. Then maybe his mother would like him. Then he wouldn't need to wear dresses anymore. 

The moments he spent with his dad were always peaceful. The house was finally quiet because no one else was home. They could both finally hear themselves without the screaming taking over. Chris could finally hear himself think and silence the madness in his head. They didn't always talk, sometimes they didn't need to, but Chris liked being with him because he didn't call him names or say he was mad. He didn't hit him or try and make him be a girl. They understood each other.

Sometimes, his dad got scared, and sometimes he pushed him away a little, but Chris just held his hand and said everything would be alright. He didn't know what else to do. His dad would bring him close and whisper to him how much he loved him, and for a moment, Chris felt like he belonged.

* * *

_Sparkhill, Birmingham, May 1955_  
The summer of 1955 had not begun well, in spite of the fleeting glimpses of sunshine. She'd done her Eleven plus, though she wasn't entirely sure how well she'd done. She felt if that was all she'd been worried about, maybe she'd have laughed a little. But not even daft exams mattered anymore, not since her dad had died. Bev wasn't sure how to feel about that. She kept expecting him to come home, but he never did. Her mother cried a lot, though Bev suspected she wasn't meant to know about that. But she could hear it through the floorboards, and she hugged her dog Remus close to her, wondering when things might get better, if they ever did. 

The sound of the stones hitting the glass was almost imperceptible, but the more it went on, the more Bev was sure it wasn't just her imagination. It seemed far too early to be awake, but her clock said it was 7am, so maybe that was just her reluctance to wake. She sat up, and listened to the sounds all around her. The house was too quiet now. The radio was never turned on, not now. There was no music to drift up from the kitchen, along with the sound of her dad whistling. It was strange to hear the absence of those sounds she had grown so used to hearing. She had always assumed they would be there, and now there was nothing but silence, and the stones cracking against the windowpane. 

Leaving her bed, she went to the window and saw Mark and Tony standing in the street outside her room, looking up at her. They smiled, but even she knew there was no happiness there now. The endless days of playing in the woods without a care in the world were now gone. Bev hadn't been out to play for days, not since the funeral. There had been many people there she hadn't known, and many she had, but no one told her what she was meant to do, or how to feel, except that she had to be a brave girl and take care of her mother now. 

She'd spent a lot of time thinking about her dad. There had been times in her life when she'd thought she'd rather be a boy. She remembered talking to her dad about it one day. She asked him if he would've rather had a son instead of a daughter, and he'd said he'd have loved her anyway, whether she was a girl or a boy. She thought about that for a while too. If it didn't matter if she was a girl or a boy, did she really have to pick one? Couldn't she be both? Her father just told her to be herself, whatever that was. It didn't help, because she didn't know what she was, apart from herself.

She opened the window, and looked down at them. "Haven't you got anything better to do?" 

"Come and play! It's no fun without you," Mark said, doing his best to convince her.

"But I don't want to play," Bev replied, and she didn't, not really. She wanted to sit and read, and get lost in her own mind. She didn't want to run around and play. 

"Then come down and we'll go to the store then. I'll buy you some chocolate. Dad's orders. Said it always makes him feel better when he misses our mum," Tony said.

Bev had to smile at that. If there was anyone who might understand how she felt, it was Tony. Here she was, their pillar of strength, and she was sitting in her room, not wanting to play. "Alright, just for you. I'll be down in a bit."

That made them happy, and Bev went to get dressed. Perhaps she had been shutting herself off from the friends who might help her make sense of these things. At least, they would make for a good time, and that might help her feel better. She pulled on some trousers and a shirt and jacket, barely pausing to greet her mother before she met them in the street. 

Tony gave her a hug, pleased to see her again. "It's alright. I don't miss her so much anymore. Dad said it gets easier, he did."

"Thanks, man. Now, didn't you promise me chocolate?" Bev said, doing her best to cheer up.

"You promised us all chocolate. You'd better deliver, Ton. I don't want to have to tell your dad you've been going round breaking promises," Mark said, though he wasn't as serious as his words sounded. 

Tony pulled away from him, as if he was holding his money out of reach. "He gave it me. Said it was for Bev, not you." He stuck his tongue out at him before running down the road away from him.

Mark and Bev gave chase as Tony cried that he'd race them to the shop, giving himself a head-start. It wasn't much of a head-start; Mark and Bev were able to outrun him easily, given he was younger than them, but that day, they didn't take delight in snatching victory from him. Instead, they let him win, and he stood on the step, triumphant. Seeing him so happy, Bev could feel things beginning to feel better, even if she didn't think they ever would be the same again.

"So what're you going to do now?" Tony asked as they sat in the park on the grass, sharing the chocolate between them.

Bev shrugged. "About what?"

"Well, you don't got a dad now. Is your mum going to be alright?" Tony said.

Bev shrugged again. "I dunno. Dad wasn't always around. I miss him most in the mornings. But the rest of the time, I don't miss him that much. Mum just cries a lot. I help her when I can, but it's hard. It's not like I can go out and get a job to help her out."

"I guess this makes you the man of the house now. You can stop wearing dresses," Mark said with a grin.

Bev laughed at the suggestion, though it wasn't as silly to her as it appeared to him. She'd been thinking that thought all week, unspoken, in her mind, trying to make sense of herself. It was the first time she'd seriously asked herself whether she'd rather be a boy instead of a girl, for her mum, to help her out. Every now and then, she tried to imagine what she'd look like as an adult, but she didn't seem to be either a boy or a girl, but neither. But that wasn't possible. Everyone had a gender; you couldn't be born without one, could you? But she knew there were things she could do as a boy that she couldn't do as a girl, things she really wanted to do. Maybe being a boy was what she ought to do.

"I wonder if mum would even let me," Bev mused, as much to herself as to her friends.

Mark's expression softened, turned more serious, as he heard Bev seriously consider it as an option for the first time. Maybe it wasn't such a daft idea, after all. "Why not? It's not like you're not halfway there. You'd be a terrible girl. They don't like you, that's why they don't play with you. You push them around too much, or so I've heard. You belong with us more than you belong with them."

"I guess. Would anyone care, I wonder, if I went out as a boy? It might be fun for a while, like so I can help mum," Bev said.

"I wouldn't care. You're hardly a girl anyway. Why would they care?" Mark said.

Bev wasn't sure. There was a voice in the back of her mind that suggested that yes, some people would care very much, in the same way that some people cared very much that Bev did not wear dresses very often, and played in the woods with boys. She had been told before that she should be more of a girl, and the girly toys she'd been given by distant relatives for Christmas in a bid to appease a young girl had gone unnoticed and unloved. Bev had never cared for them. 

The girls at school cared too. A couple of them had decided that trying to bully her was the best way to make her conform, and when that didn't work, they bullied her for being different, as if she might care about that. And Bev did, to a certain extent. She was pushed around, and her hair grabbed, and sometimes, she was physically hurt. But she'd learnt to hit back, and while it had got her nearly expelled from school for punching a particularly obnoxious girl in the face because she'd tried to trip her up and push her into a puddle, she'd learnt to just accept it as part of life. It was what happened when you were different in their eyes. They made sure you remembered it. 

And it was in that moment that things crystallised for her. For him. He'd never been much of a girl, anyway. It wouldn't be that much of a loss to be a boy, would it? It's not like the girls would ever accept her. His high school years might be easier as a boy than as a girl. He knew boys. He knew how to deal with them. Girls, well, girls were a foreign country entirely.

"I think this is what I've wanted my whole life. I think that's who I really am. I was always meant to be a boy. What do you think?" Bev asked eventually.

Mark shrugged. "Why'd you want to be a girl, anyway? Girls are so boring. You come and play in the woods with us. None of the other girls do that."

Tony agreed. "Yeah, you make more sense to me as a boy."

It made sense enough to Bev, too. If he wasn't much of a girl, perhaps he'd better be a boy then, before his body started turning into a proper girl. Yes, he would be a boy now, because he had to be the man of the house now that his dad was gone. His mum would need him now. It was the only thing that made sense to him, that made him feel happy and safe. He still wasn't entirely sure he'd settled on what he was, exactly, but what else could you be except a boy or a girl? There wasn't anything else, so if he wasn't a girl, then he must be a boy. It made about as much sense as anything else did. It was as much of the world as he understood, and the more he thought about it, the more he was sure it was what he wanted to do. Now all he had to do was tell his mother she now had a son.

* * *

"You've been a while. Did you go out today, then? I was beginning to wonder if you would stay up there all summer."

Bev shrugged at his mother's comment as he arrived home later that afternoon. He had been out all day, because it had seemed better than going home and brooding over how he would become a boy, now that he'd decided that's what he wanted to do. Mark and Tony had offered commentary, and good distractions, and they'd had a good game of football with some other boys from their street as well, which helped Bev take his mind off things. He was the only girl - in body, at least - who played football, and he was good at it, too. He'd become quite adept at stealing the ball off an opponent without causing an obvious foul, even if he sometimes did foul, and sometimes did it on purpose. Everyone wanted him on their team, and it had made him quite popular, if only amongst the boys who cared more that he could play than whether he was a girl. Well, he had been a girl. Had he? Or had he always been a boy, and just not realised it? The answer wasn't entirely clear to him. 

"Yeah, I went out with the boys. Went down the park, played a bit of football. Um," Bev hesitated then, unsure whether to continue. It wasn't that he was afraid, but perhaps it was too soon after losing his dad to bring that up just yet. But if he didn't, if he had to be a girl much longer, and watch his body change, well, did he really want to do that? He wasn't sure he did. "Mum, I need to tell you something. Something important."

His mother looked up from the stove, where she was cooking dinner. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm a boy," Bev said, before he chickened out. "Like, I'm not a girl, never have been. I'm a boy. Can you make me a boy, mum? I want to be a boy from now on. Cos dad's not here, and you need a man in the house, and I don't want to be a girl anymore."

His mother gave him a quizzical look, though she didn't look as shocked by this admission as Bev thought she would. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised, the way you behave. Are you sure you want to be a boy, then?"

Bev nodded. "I do. The girls don't like me anyway, and I don't understand them. I might punch one of them again once I start high school. At least if I punched a boy, no one would really care that much." 

His mother offered a withered look, but didn't object. "Let's wait and see which school you're going to before we decide on the benefits of punching boys over girls, shall we? Not that I condone that sort of behaviour, even if they are being mean to you."

"No, mother, of course not," Bev said, not entirely sure he wouldn't do it again if he had to. Being able to fight back had become a necessary skill when he was different, and people wanted to bully him about it. 

"Well, go on, go get cleaned up for dinner. I can see the dirt all over you. I hope you left your shoes on the porch."

Bev realised he hadn't, and carefully stepped out of his shoes, that were now covered in dirt and grass. Being careful to refrain from trailing more dirt through the house, he left his shoes on the porch, and went to clean up the mess he'd made. There were some muddy prints in the kitchen and down the hall, and he made a point of leaving the floor sparkling, and the carpet vacuumed, before he went to change for dinner. 

He looked in his wardrobe as he tried to decide what to wear, now that he was going to be a boy. It was a strange thing to look at now. He had a lot of girl clothes, because in spite of his tomboyishness, he had still never entirely minded wearing them. But he knew, in that moment, that he would hate wearing them now. They belonged to someone else, someone he wasn't anymore. He grabbed them and pulled them out, throwing them in a corner of his room. He was left with some shirts, a few trousers, and a couple of jackets. He'd need more clothes, and more shoes. He scrunched up his nose as he threw aside his pretty shoes. They were dark red, and glossy, with a little heel on them. They were the most expensive pair of shoes he owned, but he didn't want them anymore. They clattered to the ground, discarded.

As if that wasn't enough, he also threw any other remnants of his girly side onto the pile of clothes. A boy wouldn't have those things, so he ought to get rid of them. There weren't many, if he was being honest. The lost presents and other things he'd hung on to because he hadn't minded having them. Even the Girls' Annuals were thrown on the pile. He didn't want any of those things anymore. The only thing he kept was a small bear with a pink ribbon around its neck that his father had given him three Christmases ago, along with the pink blanket it had been wrapped in. For a moment, he held the bear to his chest, missing his father. He wouldn't be there to see him become a man. He wouldn't even be there to show him how to be a man, to start with. How would he do this on his own, anyway? He hadn't even thought of that, and for a moment, he wondered if it wasn't too late to take it all back. But the prospect of growing up into a woman, and allowing his body to do what it was naturally wanting to do, wasn't an option, not now. He had to find a way to make it stop.

"You really mean it, don't you? Wanting to be a boy."

Bev looked back to see his mother standing in the doorway, surveying the mess that now dominated his room. He got to his feet, nodding, unsure how else to make it clear to her that it was what he wanted. He didn't know how you went about becoming a boy, but he was sure his mother would know.

"Imma boy, mum. I can't be a girl anymore, I just can't. It's not who I am. Make me into a boy, will you?" Bev said, taking a step towards her.

She came over to him and brought him into a hug. "You're all I've got now, and if this is what you need to be happy, that's alright with me. You take the summer to dress how you like, and be who you want to be. If it's still what you want in September, once we know which school you're going to, then I'll see what I can do, alright?"

Bev nodded. It was the best he could hope for, really. Magical fairy godmothers didn't exist who could just magically grant your wishes. Still, it was better than nothing. His mother still seemed to love him, and hadn't tried to throw him out, but given his mother's tolerance for his behaviour over the years, it would've been very strange if she had. 

"I promise I'll take care of you, mum, I promise," Bev said, not wanting to lose her too.

* * *

_Moseley Grammar, Moseley, Birmingham, September 1955_  
In many ways, it felt like the summer had been a pleasant one. Certainly, he'd taken advantage of his new-found freedom, and had spent the summer doing all the boy things he could think of. Many he'd been doing before he'd decided to be a boy, but it felt different to do them as a boy. Only his friends knew he was now a boy, but at least he was glad he'd be going to a different school where he might not know anyone, and he'd be able to blend in without worrying someone might know his past. 

Mosely Grammar School wasn't where he'd been initially offered a place; on the not-unreasonable assumption that he was a girl, he'd been placed at the sister Girl's School next door. Bev had to admire his mother's skills in convincing the school that they'd made a mistake and that Bev was a boy, and probably ought not to be going to a girls' school. Making a case for an administrative error seemed easier than the alternative, as Bev wasn't sure he wanted to have to undergo medical and psychological examinations to prove he was better suited to a boys' school. A fortnight and several meetings with both schools later, and Bev had a place at Moseley Grammar, as well as a new birth certificate that said he was male, just to prove his case. Bev had never been so pleased in his life. He might pull this off, after all.

On the first day of term, Bev gazed around the grounds, wondering if he might make any friends, now that he would get his chance to be who he really felt he was. His mother had made sure he understood how lucky he was to be going there at all, and he was determined not to let her down. He'd need a job soon enough, if he was to help look after his mother, but until he was old enough, he'd have to make do with helping in his mother's shop. This had always proved a good way to make friends, given the books, toys, and sweets his mother sold. Bev sometimes felt guilty for exploiting it as much as he did, but it was a good way to bypass those who might otherwise have hated him for being different if he bribed them enough to leave him alone. For once, it hadn't led to his first friend at his new school, though. That had happened by chance, and Bev found there was a lot to like about Jasper. He felt far less daunted about how he would survive now that he had a friend to back him up. 

_Yardley Wood, February 1956_  
Mary's house had become Chris' refuge. His mother had given up trying to stop him sneaking out to stay there, because one less difficult child in the house was better than having to deal with him. He was also close enough that it didn't feel like he'd run away. They knew where to find him, anyway, if they ever actually needed him for anything. In many ways, it made everyone happy. He didn't particularly like that he had to have another home to begin with, but Mary was there when he needed her, and sometimes, he didn't go back to his house for weeks. No one missed him, but that was beside the point. 

He loved the times he got to spend with Mary. He was able to be a boy when he stayed with her. She had allowed him to cut his hair short so he wasn't teased for having long hair. She gave him all the love his own mother wasn't able to give him, and it settled him. He went to school more regularly, because she was willing to encourage him. He had his own bed, and his own clothes, and a safe place to live. The house was quiet, and for the first time, he felt he could think clearly. Mary didn't stop him doing what he wanted to do, and while she did scold him now and then, it always lacked the harshness that he'd always had back at home, when he would get yelled at and slapped and thrown in the attic. She'd chide him gently, and she'd smile, and he never felt like she was being mean to him. Her care made him want to be good for her, too, so when he did get in trouble, he was always quick to learn from it, so it didn't happen again. 

Sometimes, he dreamt about what had happened back home, when he'd been thrown in the attic. It had happened for as long as he could remember. He would wake up crying, and crawl into Mary's bed, needing her comfort. She would hold him close, and tell him stories to make him forget his bad dreams. He was still an anxious child, though, and had become quite scared of loud noises. He flinched at sudden movements, and instinctively attempted to defend himself if someone came too close to him too quickly, or if a stranger touched him without asking permission. Not wanting to go home had made him paranoid, even though he was sure they didn't want him back home anyway. Still, he avoided walking anywhere near his house if he could help it, so he wasn't snatched off the street and brought home again. He never went home unless he had to, and that was only when his oldest sister came to ask him to come back, just for a while. She had become more sympathetic towards him over the past few years, though he didn't know why, but at least she was there to stop him being hurt too much while he was there.

He never stayed long. He went back for Christmas, because his sister asked him to come back, and while it wasn't a truly joyous affair as his uncle had got drunk and started shouting at everyone, at least it had been better than it had been. He felt, for once, that no one really hated him. They might not have liked him there, but at least they weren't being openly hostile to him. Perhaps the time he spent at Mary's house had done them all some good, and taken some stress out of their lives. 

He felt it would've been almost perfect if they'd acknowledged him as a boy, but they still wanted him to be a girl, and it was distressing to hear them still calling him a girl, calling him by his girl name, and giving him girl toys. They would tell him to grow his hair, and stop wearing boy clothes. He did cry a bit at it, but his kind sister had done her best to stop it turning into a war by giving him a model Spitfire kit, which did help broker a peace, of sorts. That was more like it. He settled, and he might have even smiled at the gift. The finished plane sat on his window sill at Mary's house, along with another smaller model of a Spitfire. He had come to like the planes rather a lot since then, and kept asking for them every time he saw a new plane in the shops when Mary took him out. She didn't always give in to his demands, but he forgave her for that. It was easy when she hugged him, and smiled at him, and told him she loved him. At least, he began to feel he wasn't alone in the world, not completely.

* * *

He wished very much that he didn't have to keep going home, but it was part of the deal, or so Mary kept saying when his sister came to get him. His mother wouldn't stop him going to see Mary, but he had to come home every so often. He was still a child, after all, and she was his mother, and until he had another, he knew he'd have to go home if she said so.

He'd come home just before the end of term. He hadn't wanted to, but he hadn't been back since Easter, and Mary felt enough time had passed that the arguments would have dissipated. He went in through the kitchen, sullen and unhappy to be back. No one greeted him, and he was ignored as he went to his old bed, where he left his bag, which had his clothes and books in it, along with a teddy he'd come to need in order to survive going back home. 

He sat on his bed, wondering how bad things would get this time. His absences had made things better, but without a reason for everyone to be civil to each other, like Christmas or Easter, he knew things went back to the way they had been before. The arguments always returned, and he found himself feeling threatened and afraid again. He forced himself to cope, because that's how he'd learnt to survive, and left as soon as he could, but he could never relax until he was back at Mary's house. 

"I see you're back again. You took your time," his mother said from the doorway.

He looked up at her and nodded. "Didn't wanna cause trouble. Y'know. From before."

"You've been saying that yer whole life, and all I ever got was trouble from you. Now, your dad's away again, so I want no trouble this time, y'hear? You keep your tongue civil, and do as your told. And no more of that boy nonsense. I've half a mind to send you away to get your head fixed, the way you're going. There's something not right with you, like your dad, you are. All wrong in the head." She sighed, and the anger in her expression lessened. "Jus' - behave yourself. Don't make this harder than it has to be. I'm run ragged right now, and I don't need you making this hard."

He nodded sullenly, but understood. "Yes, mum, I'll be good. Promise."

She didn't offer anything more, but left him alone, telling him to come down to dinner in an hour. He decided to stay where he was, and lay down on his bed, wondering if he ought to just leave before he caused more trouble. He always seemed to cause trouble, particularly at home. It wasn't like he did it on purpose. It was just that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, no matter what happened. He was stuck with a family that didn't particularly care for him, and it made it hard to feel welcomed, and to feel like he was safe. He ran away so much because he didn't feel safe or accepted. He wondered if he ever would be welcome here. Perhaps he was better making his luck elsewhere.

He hated that he was sharing a room with his sisters. It had always been like this, shunted away into the farthest corner. He was surprised they still kept his bed there, given how much he'd disappeared lately. Maybe one day he'd come back and it would be gone, and he'd be left with the cupboard under the stairs, or the attic, or wherever else he could find. Maybe they'd send him back to the attic permanently. 

He didn't like that thought, and a chill ran down his spine at the thought of sleeping up there. It was cold, and dark, and the walls creaked in a horrifying manner. To a small child with an over-active imagination, who saw persecution everywhere because that's how he experienced the world, it was a scary place. The only window looked out over the street, and he dared not look down, lest he fall through and break his neck. Instead, he would curl up, and listen to the sounds of fighting and police vans, hearing all the violence no one talked about, because they thought no one was listening. 

And yet, it was also the only place he felt safe, because they all left him alone. They left him up there by himself, and left him in peace. Maybe that's why he courted trouble so much, so he could go up there and think, for a while, and enjoy the relative silence. He rose, and went to go up there on his own, just for some peace, but his sister grabbed his arm and brought him downstairs for dinner.

He didn't speak to them as he ate. They didn't speak to him, either. He'd learnt to eat quickly, because he might not get to finish if he took too long, or it might get stolen by his brother. His father wasn't there, which he regretted. He was the only one able to hold back the hostility. Without his father's presence, he just felt he was unwelcome. Once he'd finished eating, he slipped away, knowing they wouldn't notice or care, and went to the attic. 

He didn't normally go up there willingly, but he needed the peace. Taking his duvet and pillow, and his bag, he decided it was better to stay there than try to stay out of trouble. He pulled the mattress over towards the window, seeking the light it offered. He didn't pull it over all the way, as he didn't want to fall out, but it was close enough for him to feel safe, that he wasn't in a dark place. He went to bed, though he didn't sleep. The noise of the house drifted up to him, and the arguments continued. He pulled his teddy bear close to his chest, and tried to feel brave, but it didn't much help. 

"You love me, don't you, teddy? Don't you?" he pleaded, unsure of the answer. 

That he could even doubt a toy loved him back wasn't a strange thing to him, but he could never take it for granted, not even with toys. The bear remained silent and didn't reply, but he held it tight, and fought back his tears. Soon, he would leave, and go back to Mary's, and go back to the one place he was actually loved without question.

* * *

Morning came, but he didn't particularly care. Dark thoughts were churning around in his head; the product of his lack of sleep, he felt. It had been a noisy night, and the police had been called to a house across the street. There had been shouting, and smashing glass, and he hadn't been able to settle his mind enough to sleep. The dark thoughts brewing in his head had been so loud he hadn't felt safe enough to sleep, and lay there in the dark, wondering how he might kill them, if he couldn't kill himself first. 

It wasn't the first time he'd thought that. Everyone would be glad if he killed himself, wouldn't they? They wouldn't get mad at him then. They told him to die, anyway. Always, they said he should go and die, when they hated him particularly badly. His brother was particularly fond of wishing death on him, particularly if he touched his things. 'I wish you'd never been born,' his mother would say, and he believed her. 

He felt it can't have been all his fault that his birth had caused so much trouble for his mother. And yet, who else's fault could it have been? She'd been carrying him, and when she'd given birth, he'd almost killed her. He'd been aware of this for as long as he could remember, because no one would ever let him forget it. His mother's health had never really recovered, and he felt everyone resented him for that, as if he'd done it deliberately in a bid to harm them. He'd tried pleading, but that didn't last. It hadn't worked. That underlying resentment was always there, and he felt cast out like an angel from Heaven, powerless, alone, and unloved.

He didn't really know how to kill himself, though, when he thought about it. He might jump in the cut, and try drowning himself, but maybe someone in a narrowboat would see him in the water, and fish him out. When the thoughts got particularly strong, he'd tried holding his breath, but his body refused to let him suffocate, and it gave him a headache in return. Once, he tried wrapping a scarf around his throat, but he couldn't get the knot tight enough. The only thing that ever stopped him properly trying now was Mary. He had Mary now, and knowing there was even one person in the world who would miss him terribly if he died was enough to temper his actions, for now. If she ever left him, he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold back anymore. 

He didn't come down all day. He heard his family get up, and go about their business, but no one came for him. No one cared that he wasn't there. He did sneak down at around 1pm, when he heard his mother leave, and he was sure the house was empty, to find something to eat, but he went straight back to the attic, and hoarded what food he felt he could get away with stealing. The less he had to see them, the better. He had brought a tin of baked beans from Mary's house, because he was well aware he might not get fed at all if they didn't want to deal with him. He wasn't going to stay long, but he had learnt from experience that he couldn't just leave the next day, either. He didn't quite understand that; they hated having him around, but they wouldn't let him leave, either. That sullen thought accompanied him all day, and he lay in bed, left with nothing but his thoughts. 

He did eventually fall asleep late in the afternoon when the struggle to stay awake was overcome by his tiredness. He didn't sleep particularly well, and was woken every so often when the sound got too loud, but it was better than another sleepless night. Maybe he'd go home in the morning, if he could find a chance to escape.


	2. You Won't Change Me

_Sparkhill, March 11, 1958_  
In many ways, Bev had quite enjoyed the past few years at school. He'd been accepted as a boy, and six months earlier, he'd begun hormone therapy, offered by being in the right place at the right time. His female body had entered into puberty quite happily, leaving him with small breasts and slightly wider hips. He was binding his chest with a couple of bras modified to compress his chest as much as possible so no one could tell he was not a proper boy like all the others. 

How he had started having testosterone shots still amazed him. Apparently, there was a concern that Bev was falling behind, and that he might be a late bloomer. He was shorter than most of the boys in his year, and his body was developing differently. He'd been given a medical examination, and a psychological evaluation, neither of which gave him an opportunity to lie. Bev was half-afraid of being thrown out, and being shunned for what he was, but the psychologist who evaluated him decided to treat him, rather than condemn him, and requested that he begin hormone therapy to help him catch up. Amazed at his good luck, Bev accepted it gladly, and relished the chance to change his body and look less like the girl it was.

It had brought him a sense of calm, and a fearlessness he found hard to shake. Even after six months, he was able to see the changes in his body, and he liked what he saw. There might always be some physiological signs that he was born female, and had partly gone through puberty, but those were slowly being erased for the most part. His voice was deepening, he was growing taller, and his muscle tone was much better, which was only helped by how active he was. Testosterone had boosted his energy, and his appetite, and as a growing teenage boy, it had also awoken his libido. Yes, everything was going just fine. 

Of course, everything had been going just fine until he hit menarche, and saw the blood, which he'd been promised would never come. He hadn't been bleeding, he'd never had a period, before he started testosterone. He was sure the testosterone would stop it. That's what the doctors told him. But he found himself frozen in fear and shock, seeing blood staining his underpants. 

"Mum! Mum! I'm bleeding!" he called, scared to move in case he left blood all over the place.

She didn't waste any time running up the stairs to his room, where she found him standing in the middle of his room, his bloody underwear by his feet. He could feel the nausea and pain coming on, and didn't understand why this was happening to him. She looked quite relieved to find he was not, in fact, about to bleed to death.

"But, mum, why? I thought this wasn't meant to happen? Is it meant to hurt? I'm not going to die, am I?" Bev said, hiding his panic.

"Well, my darling son, your hormones are a mess right now, I can't say I'm surprised. It's only been six months. Give it time to work," she said, offering little sympathy. "And stop looking so disgusted, it's just blood. Here, I'll get you some tampons, and call the doctor. Try not to panic. Millions of female bodied people have bled like this for thousands of years. You're not special."

Bev did rationally understand her words, and he did appreciate her treating him the same as she'd always done. He'd wanted this, after all, these hormones. It was hardly fair to complain about how bad it was, even if he was bleeding and everything felt uncomfortable. Things could have turned out much worse for him, that's for sure. He could have been kicked out and sent to another school, where he'd have to start all over again, and hope for the best. He wasn't sure he wanted to go through all that again. He watched her go, and wondered if he'd even be able to go to school in the state he was in. He didn't feel at all well. 

"I hope this doesn't last long. I don't want to miss too much school. Jasper'd go spare without me to distract him from our Latin classes. I'd never hear the end of it if he actually had to learn something," Bev muttered, though memories of Jasper doing all he could to not learn anything in Latin class cheered him a little. 

He'd just have to buck up and deal with this sudden problem like a man. That was what he wanted, after all. He wasn't looking forward to using tampons, either, but they were much more discrete than the alternatives, and once he had them, he made his way to the bathroom to clean up and put one in. 

He turned his nose up at the blood on the toilet paper, and flushed it away, not wanting to look at it. Once he was done, the cramps intensified, and he found himself throwing up. Now, he really did feel like shit. His whole body felt like it had been run over by a bus, but he did feel a little better once the nausea began to subside. 

"Well, let's get this over with, then," he said to himself as he unwrapped a tampon, and went over his mother's instructions on how to insert them. With a foot resting on the edge of the bath, he leaned over and used his fingers to find the right place. After a deep breath, he pushed it inside with his finger, and hoped to God he had got it in the right place. 

He straightened, and cleaned up any blood that was still left, and stood a moment, trying to get comfortable. He adjusted it a little, and pushed it in a bit further, hoping it was now in the right place. He wasn't meant to be able to feel it, though he was aware of something being there, even if it didn't cause any pain. He wondered if that meant it was in properly. 

After thoroughly washing his hands to get rid of any remaining blood, he returned to his room and finished dressing, pulling on some new underpants and trousers, before taking the bloody underwear down to the laundry sink to soak, as his mother had requested. He was used to the process, having had to soak his dirty clothes from running around in the woods, and left them, trying to bring up the courage to face the day.

He went to find his mother, who was in the hall. "I don't want to go to school today, mum. I feel terrible."

"No, of course not. We have to go see the doctor today. He said to come over at ten, so he can check your hormone levels. He just wants to make sure everything's alright. I've already called the school and said you'll be absent, so don't worry about that." She smiled, and brought him into a hug. "Everything's going to be alright, Bev. This is just your body trying to figure out what your hormones should be doing. The oestrogen is fighting with the testosterone right now, and it'll take time for your natural cycles to be suppressed. Your doctors haven't monitored the effects of giving testosterone to someone like you before, so they don't know how everything's going to work out. But it'll be alright. Your body is still growing. Things will settle down when you're older, and puberty is out of the way. Try not to let it get to you, alright?"

Bev nodded, and hugged her back. He did appreciate everything she'd done for him. "I'll try, mum, I promise."

Bev felt strange about missing school. In many ways, he hadn't particularly cared about school. He'd found other distractions, and it was more fun trying to see who would get bottom of the class in competition with his best friend Jasper than actually trying to learn anything. He'd bunked off school to go to the pictures often enough that a legitimate day off seemed almost a joy. But knowing why he wasn't going to school, and knowing it wasn't his choice, dented the pleasure he took in it. 

He sat in the front room, drinking some water, as he tried to deal with what was happening to him. His mother's words had been harsh, and really, he wasn't special for bleeding like every other female-bodied human ever, but he had problems with it that they didn't have. Maybe that made a difference to him. It wasn't like he'd wanted to bleed, but he'd been so sure the testosterone would stop it. It was meant to stop it. But perhaps he did need to wait longer for things to work out. It had only been six months, after all, and he wasn't even 14 yet. Still, he was anxious to fit in, to be the boy he'd been dreaming of for the past few years. He didn't want it to last this long.

On the whole, he didn't feel too bad. The nausea was passing, though the cramps and back pain remained, dulled, but not forgotten. His body was betraying him, but he didn't hate it for doing what it was meant to do. He felt he wouldn't have really cared at all if he hadn't decided to be a boy, but that changed things. He wasn't meant to bleed. He hoped it wouldn't last too long. He didn't want to bleed for a week. He was sure he'd skip until it stopped, so he wouldn't risk leaving evidence around where he might be found out. Just because a handful of people at school knew because they had to know didn't mean the rest of the school was privy to that information. 

He drew his knees to his chest. He hadn't told anyone at school yet. He hadn't felt brave enough. He was glad he hadn't seen anyone he'd known from primary school, who'd known him as a girl. Then again, Moseley Grammar was where all the middle class boys went. They hadn't gone to his primary school, at any rate. Perhaps that was a good thing.

Keeping his secret hadn't exactly made it easy to make friends, though. He was familiar enough with the kinds of things boys talked about, and he could fake it enough if he concentrated, but their bodies were all changing now, and things were happening to them that weren't happening to him. It wasn't as easy to fake it then, not without potentially jeopardising his secret, and revealing what he really was. They'd know if he was lying about that. He was just glad he had the sort of friends who didn't obsessively talk about that, and he just had to deal with it when it came up in other contexts. 

Jasper was good, though, him and the boys in the street. He didn't see as much of his old friends as he'd have liked, given they were going to different schools, and couldn't play together as often, but it was hard not to keep up those friendships, though. Jasper didn't exactly fit in with them, but they did other things together after school, and that more than made up for it. 

"He's the only one who doesn't know. I wonder if I should tell him," he murmured, thoughts turning to his new friend. They'd met the day they both started at Moseley Grammar, and his friendship had made the time they spent there bearable. But he was the only friend he had who didn't know he used to run around as a girl, because all his other friends lived on his street, and they'd known for years now. But Jasper didn't know, and Bev was worried what he might think of his absence, and what excuse he might be able to pull off to convince him it was nothing to worry about. 

"I wonder if he'd care. Maybe he would. Maybe he'd tell the other boys at school. Maybe I'd have to leave, and go to another school. Maybe I'd lose all this." Bev paused, to consider how well he knew him, and how well he trusted him. "But maybe he wouldn't give a shit. It's not like he's a stranger, and I don't like hiding this from him, but what if he hates me? What if this is what breaks it all apart?"

The nausea was beginning to return, and he wondered idly if he'd ever find the courage to tell anyone, and whether he really needed to do so. His mother had always cautioned against it, but she hadn't strictly forbidden it, either. And yet, he felt he couldn't really feel like he'd opened up to him while this secret was still hiding away, waiting to be discovered. It would always sit between them, and maybe Bev didn't want that wall there anymore, even if it meant potentially risking losing a good friend. 

"Maybe I'll wait and see if he comes round this afternoon. Maybe I'll tell him then, if I feel I can trust him," Bev said, almost making a decision.

He looked over as his mother entered the room, dressed to go out. "We going now, then are we?" 

"Yes, we should leave soon, if you're ready. Do you need a few minutes to yourself? I can go wait in the car," she said.

Bev got to his feet. "No point in waiting now, is there? Might as well get this over with."

She gestured him out. "Well, let's go. The doctor's waiting."

* * *

_Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Edgbaston_  
They arrived a bit before ten, though they didn't wait long. Bev's doctor had made room in his schedule for them as soon as he could, and invited them into his office. Bev felt he'd been in too many doctor's offices lately, from medical visits to his therapist to this doctor, who kept his hormone levels in check. It was beginning to get tiresome, particularly since they insisted on monitoring him very closely for future reference, should another girl come in telling them she was really a boy. 

"So, you've just started menstruation this morning, is that correct?" the doctor said.

Bev nodded. "Yeah, it was the first time. I woke up this morning, and, well. There was blood. I thought you said it wouldn't happen?"

The doctor shrugged. "I can't be sure of anything with your treatment at this stage. I've never studied the effects of testosterone on a young female body in this manner before. I know it can be used to stop the menstrual cycle, and it will, in time, masculinise you, but I still don't know if your dosages are correct. I'm learning about this just as much as you are. If you've begun menstruation, we may need to increase the dosages to compensate, and that may help to knock out the oestrogen production."

"How long will I bleed for, then? I don't want to go back to school like this," Bev said.

"It's hard to say. A normal period of menstruation lasts between three to seven days, but I wouldn't call you normal. It might stop tomorrow, but we won't know. You'll just have to sit it out, and see what happens. If you're still bleeding in a week, come back and see me, and we'll see if there's anything else going on. We may need to use different medication to deal with it," the doctor said.

Bev wasn't entirely thrilled at the prospect of bleeding for a whole week. He wasn't sure he could deflect his friends for that long. He hoped it stopped sooner rather than later. 

"Am I going to have more of these things, then? Before they stop?" Bev asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer to that.

"It's possible, yes. I'll increase your dosages for now, and see if that minimises the number of them, but I can't guarantee you won't have any more. I'm afraid to say it, but I think you'll keep menstruating until the oestrogen is sufficiently suppressed, and I can't say for sure when that will be. Until then, you'll just have to deal with it as best you can," the doctor said.

Bev crinkled his nose up in disgust. "Well, that's not going to be any fun, is it? I wish it'd stop now. I don't want to go through this again." 

"I wish it were that simple to stop it happening. It'd make your life easier, that's for sure. I think we'll take a blood sample today, and see what your hormone levels are. I'd like to check where you're at, and make sure there aren't any problems we might need to deal with. Come back next week, and I'll know better where to go from here. Hopefully, the testosterone you've been on will suppress menstruation after this one, considering you were on it before you got to this point. That was partly why I started you on it so soon. The sooner we can turn you into a boy, the better for everyone, I think," the doctor said.

Bev sighed. More tests, more appointments. It was beginning to get quite trying, and he was lucky he hadn't missed too much school because of it that no one had really noticed he'd been missing. "Alright. We'll do more tests. There's nothing else you can really do, is there?" 

"Not at this stage, no. At least we started while you're still growing. The testosterone ought to have a greater effect on your body, in theory at least. We might be able to stop some of the female secondary sexual characteristics from appearing if we're lucky. You might get close to a normal puberty for a boy, if we can get the dosages right," the doctor said.

"But I've got breasts, and I'm bleeding now. Even some of the boys at school tease me for looking like a girl. My body doesn't quite look like theirs do," Bev protested.

The doctor offered a reassuring expression. "These things will change. I'm hoping for some breast reduction, and the cessation of menstruation, and you should feel your body change, too. You're already pretty athletic, and that should help with muscle development. I wish I had more case studies to work off, so I could be more certain of what to expect. Even I was surprised testosterone alone could change a female body so dramatically when I first read about it. I'm hoping the effects will be even stronger in a child's body, rather than an adult's body. Are you experiencing any other issues apart from menstruation, then?"

Bev shook his head. "No, just the bleeding. It's disgusting. I didn't think it'd feel this horrid."

"I can imagine it's not exactly a welcome development, but at least you're not experiencing any other problems. Do let me know if anything else comes up. We may still need to adjust your shots, depending on how you react to them," the doctor said.

Bev nodded. There was still a nagging issue, but he'd never had a chance to discuss it, since his mother always came in with him. It was one of those things he didn't want to talk about with her in the room, but maybe he ought to bring it up, just in case it was normal. "Um, well, there might be another issue, but. Could I speak to you alone, please, just for a moment? It's a bit private. Can you give us a moment, mum, please?"

His mother got the hint, and touched his shoulder as she turned to leave. "I'll just be outside, if you need me, alright?" 

Bev relaxed at her words, grateful for her understanding. "Thanks, mum. I'll - it's just -"

"No, I understand. You're a growing boy. You say what you need to say. I'll be waiting for you outside," his mother said.

Bev waited until she'd left before daring to speak. He didn't want to be overheard, and sexual urges were not something he wanted his mother to know about. They had grown intense during the past month, more than they'd been before, and he wasn't sure if it was just natural development because of the testosterone, or something to be worried about. It had led to many nights where he didn't sleep well until he'd taken care of those urges. His dreams were becoming filled with desire, and he wasn't entirely sure how to deal with it. He was noticing girls, too, in ways he'd never noticed girls before, but he was also noticing boys in the same way. He knew enough to know that wouldn't be tolerated at all, and he'd become highly aware of any contact he had with other boys, just in case they thought he was queer, and deserved a beating. He'd seen it before. He knew what would happen if they thought he was queer. No one ever spoke about it, but that didn't mean no one knew. 

"So what did you want to talk about?" the doctor prompted.

"It's, well. I know you said testosterone would give me, y'know, a stronger libido, yeah? Because it has, and it's embarrassing. I can't make it go away, not forever. That's normal, isn't it? Or..." Bev trailed off, being as clear as he felt he could be without being crude. It was hard enough talking about it to a doctor, and an adult, at that. Not even his friends knew much about it, because it was hard to talk about without giving away too many things.

"What are you experiencing, then? Does it feel normal to you? Or is it becoming problematic?" the doctor asked.

"I- well. I think it's normal. It's not always there, but sometimes, I see someone, like boys or girls, and sometimes," Bev paused, trying to find an appropriate way to phrase it, "sometimes, it's the rubbing, y'know. Cycling, and that sort of thing. If you know what I mean."

The doctor nodded. "I have a fair idea, yes. I would think your desire for boys is probably your female hormones struggling to readjust to the testosterone. It may go away in time once you settle into your skin and become an adult. If you're concerned about it, I could request a gynaecological exam to make sure there's nothing wrong down there."

"What's that? Would it hurt?"

"No, it shouldn't hurt. A special doctor would examine your genitals to make sure there aren't any problems that might be causing these desires. But it might be a bit much for you right now, and I'd need to see if I could find one who'd be willing to look at you without judgement. I think I might know one in Surrey, but I can't remember if she's still working there. I have to admit to a certain amount of self-interest, as I'd be interested in seeing how your genitals are reacting to the testosterone. I don't really have a lot of data about that, apart from the increase in libido, and that's in adult women," the doctor said.

Bev felt an uncomfortable surge of warmth between his legs. Fuck. Even just talking about it was bringing it on. How much worse would it be if someone touched him down there? He wasn't sure he was ready for that yet. He stepped back a bit, staring at the ground, hoping his arousal wasn't noticeable. "I - no, I don't think I'm ready for that yet. I - "

The doctor accepted his reluctance, and backed off. "No, it's alright. You're still adjusting to your changing body. We'll leave all that for now until things settle down. But do keep an eye on things, and let me know if you ever feel ready for that procedure. I won't force it on you if you're uncomfortable with it."

"I - thanks. It's just a bit - y'know. But at least I know it's normal. I just wanted to be sure. It's a bit overwhelming sometimes, trying to make sense of it. It's just so embarrassing sometimes," Bev said.

"That's what puberty does to you, even to girls. Your body's growing up, and becoming an adult. That's just part of it. You might want to talk to your therapist about it in more detail, though. I'd say they're more qualified to help you deal with them than I am," the doctor said.

"Oh, yes, of course, but I wanted to know if it was normal, because of the hormones. You said yourself you don't really know for sure what's going to happen to my body, so I wasn't sure if it was... Y'know. Normal," Bev said, still holding back on the details.

"It's dreadfully normal, I'm afraid to say. If it becomes so frequent you can't actually get rid of those desires, then I might consider other treatment, and I might schedule a gynaecological exam then just to be sure, but right now, you're just a normal growing boy with appropriate sexual urges. You should be pleased about that. Normal is good, in this instance. Your peers at school are going through the same things you are, though not quite in the same way. But I promise you, they are dealing with growing sexual desire just like you are, I'm afraid. It's part of growing up," the doctor said.

Bev was relieved, as much as he could be relieved when a certain part of his body was tingling, and he could feel the seat of his trousers agitating it further. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so awkward to deal with if he hadn't been under such extensive medical scrutiny. He was sure he wouldn't have brought it up with any doctor if he didn't feel he had an obligation to report what was happening to him. Some days, he just wanted to get on being a boy, and pretend for a while that he was being monitored and tested and analysed and written about as the subject of a scientific experiment, rather than as a patient receiving the treatment he needed to live a better life. 

Feeling the conversation had reached its end, he rolled up his sleeve and offered his arm. "Alright, let's get this over with. I want to go home."

* * *

It took another hour before they could leave. Blood samples were taken, and other tests run, in order to ascertain how Bev was coping. By the time they left, all Bev wanted to do was go home and curl up in bed. He wasn't feeling well, and his body was aching quite badly. He had been to see his regular doctor, and prescribed pain killers, but he didn't think they did enough. He felt it might've been more bearable if he'd been able to stand having a hot water bottle to soothe his nausea, but it just made it worse. Sullenly, he sat in bed and read books, hoping he would feel better soon.

He dozed off around 2pm. When he woke a couple of hours later, he heard someone entering his room. Blinking, it took a moment to recognise Jasper coming in, shutting the door quietly behind him. Bev sat up, suddenly anxious about what he might tell him. He doubted his mother had told him anything, which left it down to him. Did he really trust him, or would he continue to keep his secret? 

"I missed you today. Beecher was a right arse. I actually had to do some work. Maths was no fun without you," Jasper said as he sat on the edge of his bed, fishing out a bag of lollies and some chocolate from his blazer, which was then unceremoniously dumped on the floor along with his tie. His shirt had been untucked long before he arrived. "I brought you some sweets. Thought you might need them. You alright then? Your mum said you weren't feeling well."

There was a lurching in his stomach as he shifted a little, trying to think what to say. He appreciated the gesture, of course. It was their standard offering if one of them was sick and missed school. Bunking off didn't count, but that usually offered much better rewards. "Yeah, stomach's a bit - well. I've felt better."

"Anything serious, then? Or were you just avoiding a horrid Latin oral? You didn't miss much." 

Bev shrugged evasively. He hadn't been thinking about school all day, and had quite forgotten about that test. He'd have to redo it later, and that wouldn't be any fun, not if he was made to do it in front of the class again. "No, no, it's fine. I'm fine. Just - not well enough for school today."

Jasper smiled. "Nice to see you bunking off for a genuine reason, though. I'd half thought you'd skipped without me for the whole day. Prat."

Bev smiled. "Nah, I wouldn't do that to you. It'd be no fun without you."

"Everything alright, then? You'll be back tomorrow?"

Bev shrugged again. "Dunno. It ain't tomorrow yet. I might still feel like shit in the morning."

"I thought it wasn't anything serious? What's wrong? You're not going to be off all week, are you?" 

Bev was almost reassured by the concern in his best friend's face. Perhaps he hadn't deflected attention as well as he'd hoped. Maybe he would have to tell him after all, or at least, he might have to tell him something concrete, rather than dance around the issue with vagaries. His hesitation gave him away, and he saw Jasper notice it. Evasiveness and lying wouldn't get him out of this one. If it had been anyone else, maybe they wouldn't have noticed, but Jasper did, and Bev hated him for it. It was always so hard to lie to him. They'd become far too close during the past three years, and perhaps that was working against him. He wouldn't give up his friendship for the world, but knowing him that well had its consequences.

Jasper's expression turned serious. "Bev, is something wrong? You're not dying, are you?"

Bev shook his head. "No, I'm not dying. It's not that kind of serious." 

"So, what, then? What's wrong?"

Bev hesitated. He wasn't sure he trusted himself to speak. He suddenly felt terrified. Could he really get the words out? Did he really want to? Did he trust him enough to keep quiet, let alone be alright with his secret? Would the whole school know if it all went wrong? What else could he really say, other than the truth? The nausea returned then. He'd never felt so anxious in his life. 

"It's ... It's hard to explain. I don't know if I trust you enough. I don't want you to hate me for this," Bev said, settling on the only words that came to mind.

Jasper looked confused. "You don't trust me after all this time? What've you done that's making you question that? It's us against the world, remember?" 

Bev closed his eyes, and decided it was now or never. He could tell Jasper, the one friend he had who didn't know, or he could keep silent, and keep that wall solid between them, refusing to let him know his secret. Either option risked losing his friendship if it went wrong. Bev cared about him too much to lie to him, and yet to risk being so utterly honest with him might just be too much. Maybe it was better to keep silent. His therapist had always counselled him about the risks of disclosing his status to others, which could get him in serious trouble. He'd been told to move to a different town, to change his name, to start again with no past to chase him down. He'd been told countless stories of abuse, assault, and discrimination from others who'd walked his path before, who were older and more visible, and he'd been so shocked to realise he wasn't the only one. There were other boys who used to be girls, and other girls who used to be boys. He wasn't just a weird freak of nature no one understood. He wasn't alone, but he wasn't safe, either, not if people found out and hounded him about it. It was a hard lesson to learn, and it had made him cautious about getting close to anyone, in case he was put in this exact position, where he wasn't sure he could keep lying about it. 

But it was Jasper. He did trust him, didn't he? They'd been thick as thieves since they met. If he was going to tell anyone, surely Jasper was safe enough. If he didn't trust him, after everything they'd been through, then what hope was there that he'd be able to tell anyone else? He didn't want to be alone for the rest of his life, did he? But what other option was there if he couldn't even trust Jasper? At the back of his mind, he was sure that if Jasper didn't take it well, he'd never tell anyone ever again. He'd be alone, because it was safer, and never get close to anyone. The risks were just too high to do otherwise. But perhaps...

"Alright. Promise me you won't tell anyone this. You can't tell anyone this. I'm probably not even supposed to be telling you at all, but this thing is eating away at me, and I can't stand hiding this from you any longer. I don't want to keep a secret like this from you. But it's hard. I don't know if you'll even understand. I don't want you to hate me for this, for keeping this from you. I didn't do it for any other reason than I'm scared, and I don't want anyone to find out, and if anyone else at school knew, I'd be dead for sure. I've seen what they do to queers. We've both seen that. We know what it's like. That's why I'm scared, and that's why I need to know I can trust you with this, because it's too dangerous to disclose to someone I don't trust," Bev said, stalling for time as much as he was trying to make it clear why he was reluctant to tell him.

Jasper's expression turned suitably serious, now that he understood the sort of secret that Bev was talking about. "Ah, so it's that kind of serious. You know you can trust me, Bev. Whatever you tell me, it won't leave this room, alright?" 

Bev paused a moment. He could still back out, couldn't he? He hadn't told him anything, yet. He could still chicken out and keep on pretending things were normal. But he had implied he was queer, hadn't he? Wasn't that enough to warrant a proper explanation? Maybe it would be good to tell him, so he didn't feel like he was holding back from him. It was, as far as he knew, the only secret that still lay between them. At least if he told him, and he didn't hate him afterwards, he might finally feel safe opening up completely to him, and not holding back anymore. Jasper had kept him sane at school. They'd kept each other sane. Neither of them really felt like they belonged, not really, not with the other boys, but at least together, they felt safer than if they'd been alone. Bev wasn't sure how he'd cope without him if he lost his friendship. Maybe that was a risk worth taking. Sitting up, he made his decision as he pulled his shirt off, revealing his small breasts. They had reduced a little since he'd started on testosterone, but they were still obviously female. Bev hated them. 

"That's what's wrong. I'm bleeding. Like a girl. Because that's what my body is supposed to do," Bev said, not sure he was explaining it well enough to himself, let alone to Jasper. "I-I'm a girl, well, I have a girl's body. But I'm a boy. I've never been a girl. I just have the wrong body. Do you understand that?"

Jasper stared at him, taking in his words. He was silent for a long time. Bev turned away from him, afraid he'd lost him. He curled up, imagining that this would lead to him being kicked out, and Jasper hating him. Maybe he thought he'd been lying to him the whole time, which Bev wasn't sure he could refute. But then there was a tentative hand on his shoulder, and he didn't know what to make of the gesture. He braced himself for rejection and hatred, and having to move to a new place to start again. 

"But - you're not a girl. You're nothing like a girl. You can't be - it just..." Jasper trailed off, confused.

Bev self-consciously covered his breasts, pulling his shirt back on, ashamed his best friend was seeing them at all. He never showed off his body if he could avoid it. He didn't want anyone looking at it. "Don't make me prove it to you, please. Just trust me. Believe me. I haven't lied to you. I'm a boy with the wrong body. I don't want this to come between us."

Jasper stood and walked away from him. He went toward the door, and reached for the handle, but didn't make any move to leave. Still, Bev expected him to walk out the door and never come back. He wouldn't have blamed him if he did. He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to push the issue too much, or he might ruin any chance they had of remaining friends. But how else could he get him to understand? Eventually, Jasper turned back to him.

"Alright, what do you mean, you're a boy in the wrong body? I don't get it. Are you a boy or a girl?"

Bev felt himself huddling back against the wall as he spoke. His nerves refused to abate. "I was a girl, when I was born. But I've never seen myself that way. I've always felt I was a boy. I am a boy. My body might not agree, but I'm still a boy. That's who I am."

Jasper paused a moment before continuing. "And the - breasts and such. You're a girl under your clothes, then?"

Bev nodded. "I'm a boy with the wrong body. I should have - y'know, what you've got. Not this ugly body. It's turning into a woman's body. I don't know how to stop it."

Jasper came and sat down opposite him. He studied him for a moment. "You make no sense as a girl. That's a daft idea. So if you say you're a boy, well, that's what you are."

Bev felt his body relax at his words, reassured that, at the very least, Jasper didn't hate him. "So you're - we're alright, then?"

Jasper nodded. "Yeah, we're alright. So, what's it like having breasts, anyway? Do you really hate them?" 

Bev shifted, unsure he really wanted to discuss it, but Jasper had accepted him. Surely it'd be pointless not to confide in him now, knowing he could trust him. He was, after all, one of the few people who wasn't measuring him and testing him and quantifying his development. He was probably just curious, like all boys their age. He had to admit he'd often wondered what it would be like to have a real cock, like the other boys. Maybe it would be good to be able to just talk to him about these things in a way that wasn't riddled with scrutiny. 

"I don't think I hate them as much as I sometimes think I do. It's not like they're very big. I can conceal them well enough, and they don't bother me most of the time. I'm - I'm hoping they'll disappear. I've been getting testosterone shots for six months now. It's meant to turn me into a boy, but I'm still waiting to see how well that'll work. I don't know if you'd even noticed any of that, though," Bev said.

Jasper cocked his head a moment, and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Show me your chest again? How different is it?"

"It's a bit different to yours," Bev said, and pulled his shirt off again. He cupped a breast. "See? They're still there, but they're not very big."

They shifted closer, and Jasper reached a tentative hand over to touch the same breast. "They're squishy, aren't they? Weird."

Bev could feel that surge of arousal between his legs again, and it made him nervous. Shit, it was Jasper, of all people. He didn't fancy him, did he? He was almost certain he didn't fancy him, and it was just the reaction to being touched in such an intimate way. It wasn't something was used to, and hadn't expected he'd ever experience. Doctors never touched him that way, and he'd been too nervous to even attempt anything like that with girls. But Jasper's touch was nothing like that. He was gentle and cautious, and it surprised him.

"Don't squeeze them too hard. They're a bit tender at the moment," Bev cautioned as Jasper moved his hands over his breasts.

"Do you feel anything when I touch them? They feel soft and warm to me," Jasper said.

Bev half-shrugged against the wall. "You're being gentle, that's what I'm feeling. I don't really think about my breasts very often. It's not like they feel like a separate part of my chest. They're just there. It's nice, though, what you're doing. It feels nice. I wasn't expecting that." 

"Does it? That's good. I don't want to hurt you," Jasper said.

Bev braved moving his own hands to his friend's chest, wanting to explore what a boy's chest felt like. He'd never considered actually doing this kind of intimacy with anyone before. It felt less weird than he thought it might. Jasper shifted a little closer, and after a moment of hesitation, leant in to kiss him. Bev wasn't sure what was happening, or why, but he didn't feel at all inclined to stop. The kiss was brief, and they gazed at each other, unsure. 

"Sorry, I just - wanted to know. What it might feel like. Y'know," Jasper said.

"'S'alright, it was - nice, yeah," Bev said.

"Hmm."

They fell into silence again, their hands moving carefully. Bev still wasn't sure why they were doing this; he hadn't thought Jasper was the queer sort, and if he was just interested in him because he had a girl's body, maybe that would be how boys would always see him, as a girl. He wasn't sure he wanted that, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it. He didn't want to be used in this way, just because it was easier than finding a girl to go with. He was a boy, and he wanted to be treated that way. 

"How's that? Am I doing it right?" Bev asked, uncertain. He tried to read the expression on his face, but he wasn't sure. "Maybe one day I'll have a chest like yours."

"Maybe. I'd miss the breasts, though," Jasper said, offering a cheeky smile. "I'm growing quite fond of them."

Bev didn't let his annoyance show. "Well, I'm glad one of us likes them. I'd rather have your body, though. I don't want to have to deal with breasts and periods and not having the right body. I don't have a cock, either. What's it like having a cock, anyway?"

Jasper smiled. "I won't lie, it's pretty great."

Bev had spoken before he had a chance to take back his curiosity. "What's it feel like? Are they soft, too? I've never seen one before. Only those daft diagrams in our science books."

"Well, yeah, it is kinda soft," Jasper said as he sat up a little, undoing his trousers. "It gets harder though."

Bev hadn't expected him to actually show it, but he shifted his trousers down and got his cock out, and it sat there, soft and limp, the scrotum fitting in below it. Bev thought it looked strange. Maybe it was the angle. As he reached for it, he was surprised by the solidity of it, and how soft and loose the skin was. The sack of skin behind it felt very strange to Bev, and he wasn't sure he liked touching it. 

"What's it feel like to have it touched, then? Is it really sensitive?" Bev asked, a finger running down its length.

Jasper shivered, and Bev felt it harden a little. "Yeah, it is. Though now I know why you never saw stars when you got kicked in the balls last year. You didn't have a cock to be kicked. You'll never know a pain like that, my friend, and you should be grateful for that." 

Bev glanced away, remembering that particular instance. He couldn't quite remember what had triggered the fight, but he'd overestimated his opponents, and ended up on the floor as they lay into him. "Hey, it did hurt, just not in the way you're used to. I was bruised there for a week. Fucking pricks."

"And here I was thinking you were just resilient, when you were just not in as much pain as I assumed you were in. I almost had respect for you, Bevan," Jasper said.

Bev squeezed his cock a little harder as revenge, taking advantage of its vulnerability. "Did it feel like that, hey? Or do I need to squeeze harder?" 

Jasper leaned against him, a hand pressing against one of his breasts, as he tried to fight him off. "Oi, don't wreck it. You're just making it worse, you know. I ain't going down there with a hard on."

"Oh, is that how it gets hard? I did wonder. Does it feel good, then?" Bev said, half-teasing him, and half-curious. He could feel it harden in his hand, because he wasn't quite squeezing it in a way that deflated its arousal. "You want me to keep going?"

Jasper shifted away from him. "No, let me show you how it's done. It feels really good, and if I don't get rid of it now, it'll bother me all evening."

Bev sat up as Jasper got comfortable, kneeling on the bed as he fisted his cock. It was fascinating to watch, and it got to the point where Bev couldn't ignore his own arousal any longer, and stuck a hand down his pyjama pants, feeling for that throbbing flesh to rub it quickly. 

"Well, are you going to let me watch, too? I dunno how you do it," Jasper said, noticing his movements. "It's not like I've seen that, either, y'know, what a girl's got down there. Always been curious about it."

Bev thought it was a reasonable request, given the circumstances. "Yeah, alright. Just - don't be weird about it."

He took a moment to slip his pyjamas off, and settled into a better position, leaving his legs spread open so Jasper could see what he was doing. Jasper moved close, and Bev had to try not to get too aroused as he felt his fingers stroking him, and probing gently inside his vagina. 

"I didn't think it'd be that warm and wet. That's weird," Jasper concluded. "Does it feel weird?" 

Bev wasn't sure. "Sometimes it does. But, I don't know. It feels good most of the time. I can't really get mad at my body when it feels that good, y'know?" 

"What's that string for, anyway?" Jasper asked, lightly tugging on it. 

Bev swatted his hand away. "Like I said, I started bleeding today. It's just a tampon. Don't pull on it, or I'll bleed all over you." 

Jasper feigned disgust as he pulled away, even though there wasn't any blood there, though Bev suspected it was just as mysterious to him as his genitals were. Neither of them had ever really had a chance to get to know what each other's bodies did, and being a boy now, Bev had never really known much about female bodies and what they did, either, except for what his mother had told him, and what he'd learnt from his endocrinologist. 

"What's it even feel like to bleed like that, anyway? I mean, does it hurt? Is it proper blood?" Jasper asked.

Bev shrugged. "I think it's meant to be, like, dead tissue or something, from inside the womb? With blood mixed in? I don't know. It hurts when it starts, though. I've had cramps and nausea all day. It's meant to last for about a week."

"I can't imagine putting up with that for a week every month. That's so daft. Sounds like no fun at all. So, is that just something you'll have to deal with now? Like, every month?" Jasper asked.

"Dunno. The testosterone is meant to stop it eventually, but we don't really know when that will be. I hope it's soon, though. I really don’t want to put up with this for longer than I have to. It's really inconvenient," Bev said. 

Jaspers fingers returned to his genitals, and Bev felt the blood rush there again. His clit was throbbing, and he wasn't sure he could just not deal with it for much longer. 

"Maybe I can make it feel less uncomfortable, then. It does feel good to touch yourself down there, doesn't it?" Jasper said, his fingers slowly stroking him.

Bev squirmed. "Yeah, it does. Just be gentle. It still feels weird every now and then when I remember it's not right, that it ought to be what you have instead."

"I'll be gentle, don't worry. I wouldn't hurt you, Bev. There'd be no point in that," Jasper said.

Bev was sure of that, at least. They'd been friends long enough for that. It was still weird to have him touching him, though, stroking that warm flesh between his legs, and to have it feel so good. He could also see Jasper's more than obvious arousal, and he wondered, for a moment, about what affect this escalation in their relationship's intimacy might have on them. It did feel a bit weird, but his desire overcame that, and he moved his hand back to that sweet spot and began rubbing again, trying to show Jasper what he liked. 

"D'you wanna - come closer? I want - can you touch me? I want to be touched," Bev asked, unsure why he needed it. He missed Jasper's gentleness, and he wanted to know what it felt like to experience that kind of intimacy. 

"Alright, sure. Like before, yeah?" Jasper said, shifting closer to him. 

Shyly, Bev urged him close until they were lying on top of each other, and he kissed him again, for no other reason than he wanted to know what it felt like. Everything he was doing was done for that reason. He wanted to know what it felt like, and so far, everything had felt good. He could feel Jasper's cock pressing against that throbbing part down between his legs, and Jasper's hands rubbing his breasts gently. Bev did his best to reciprocate, but he didn't get much time to do so before that beautiful pleasure rocked his body hard, sending him into spasms of delight. 

"Oh, God, Jasper - I think I'm seeing stars," Bev murmured, only partly aware of Jasper dealing with his own pleasure. 

Jasper laughed in his ear, and pressed his cock against that tingling, throbbing area between his legs, and sent Bev into spasms again. It hurt as much as he wanted it, and he dug his fingers into Jasper's back as he rode it out. The pain in his body left, as if it had never been there, and he felt content and warm. He'd never experienced anything like that before in his life. He lay there, words failing him, as he held Jasper close, glad he was still there.

* * *

Jasper decided to stay over, for no other reason than he wanted to spend more time talking to Bev, particularly in a space where it was safe to do so. He'd stayed over before, of course, but things had changed now. Their sexual experiments had bonded them closer, for reasons Bev didn't understand, but he felt he needed to be open with someone, anyone, who he trusted, so he didn't feel like he had to keep secrets all the time. He wanted someone to touch him for a reason that had nothing to do with his transition. Curiosity, too, but also intimacy for its own sake. He wanted to be touched by someone who wasn't a doctor, or his mother. 

In the darkness, as he tried to sleep, all Bev could think about was why Jasper hadn't run off yet. Maybe he wasn't as queer as he was. Maybe he'd leave tomorrow, and things would be too different. Even though Jasper had offered countless reassurances, it still bothered him. The enormity of what had happened was threatening to overwhelm him then. He began to wonder if he hadn't made the worst mistake in his life.

"Are you going to go to sleep at all? I can hear you shifting about, you know," Jasper whispered from the floor.

Bev shifted again. "Oh. Can't sleep. Sorry."

"You're bloody terrible at this, you know," Jasper said as he groped in the dark for the bed, and clambered up beside him.

Bev turned on his bedside lamp, and shifted to make room for him. There was just enough space for them to sit beside each other, and Bev drew the blankets close, staving off the cold. 

"Alright, what's got you worried, then? Don't think I can't tell by now," Jasper said.

Bev found he didn't want to lie to him, or evade the truth, not anymore. "This afternoon, mostly. What happened. I-I didn't mean for that - I shouldn't have assumed you were - and I-I don't want to lose you, or-"

Jasper interrupted him. "It's alright, Bev. It's fine. I don't mind. It was nice. I don't regret it. Do you regret it?" 

Bev wasn't sure. "I don't know. I just - I know what happens to queers at school. Telling you what I am, and doing that with you - I've risked everything, and I'm still afraid you'll wake up tomorrow and hate me for it. All of it."

Jasper wrapped an arm around his shoulder and brought him close. "I wouldn't be here if I hated you. Surely you know me better than that. We're both a little bent out of shape, anyway. It's not like we really fit in there. You wanted me to touch you, so I did. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? It's important to you, isn't it, to be touched like that?"

Bev nodded. "I just want to be touched by someone who isn't a doctor, or who isn't just interested in measuring things. I want to be touched as if I'm a human being, because I'm afraid no one will ever want me for what I am. I'll never be able to love anyone, because I'll never be able to trust anyone to let them see me naked. I just want to be touched by someone who cares about me, that's all."

"I care about you. If you need to be touched again, just ask. I don't mind giving that to you, if that's what you need. It's not like it doesn't feel good," Jasper said.

Bev almost smiled. "Thanks. I was afraid I'd scared you away, but I'm glad you're here. I need you."

Jasper turned to him, and rested his hand on his chest. "I'm not going anywhere, Bev. Loyal to the end, that's what I am."

Jasper initiated the kiss, slow and hesitant. Their hands wandered lazily, but did nothing more than that. They lay down beside each other, curled into each other, as sleep slowly took over. Bev fell asleep with Jasper's arms around him, knowing he had at least one friend in the world.

* * *

_Cherry Blosom Clinic, south of Gloucester, summer 1958_  
Sullen, Chris sat in the car crying. He didn't know what he'd done wrong. His mother was sending him off to some clinic because he'd been bad. It was supposed to fix him, make him better, but he didn't feel sick at all. Tugging at the hem of the dress he was in, he badly wanted to be rid of it. He was not a girl! He'd never been a girl! Why didn't his mother understand this?

He'd been threatened with this sort of thing before, that he'd be sent away and fixed like his father, but he'd never entirely believed it. He'd hoped the time he'd spent with Mary had made things better, but apparently it hadn't. He still didn't understand what had triggered this, but all he knew was that he'd gone back to his mother's house, like he'd promised to do, and the next morning, he was being put in a dress, and then into the waiting car, as he and his mother were driven away. 

He'd tried to escape, but it hadn't helped. His brother had grabbed him and brought him back. He'd been hit for his trouble, which had been enough to subdue him. He didn't know what they were doing to him. Maybe he was being abandoned somewhere. Maybe they'd leave him far, far away, and Mary would never come and find him, and he'd be left alone with strangers to die. It was a terrifying prospect, made even more so by the place they arrived at. The clinic was a big old house set in the countryside. It had high walls and pretty gardens. He hated it immediately as he was hauled out of the car by his mother and left in the care of two nurses. 

"If you can't fix her, you can keep her. I can't afford to take care of her anymore, not with her father the way he is. Got it off him, she did, all the madness. She ain't never been normal," his mother said as she handed him over.

"We'll do our best. Doctor Hamilton is one of the best in the country," one of the nurses said, trying to sound reassuring.

He didn't feel at all reassured, and he cried and screamed as he was led into the building, convinced he would never see his mother again.

* * *

The house had large ceilings, and cold floors. After his mother had signed some paperwork, and he'd been forced to change into horrible itchy hospital pyjamas, he was left in their care, and escorted to a small room with thick stone walls, painted white as if it might make them look kinder. The room had dull grey carpet on the floor, and some thin lace curtains on the high window. There was also a bed, and a small wardrobe for his clothes, secured with a large lock, and a small bedside table, also with a lock. There was nothing friendly about the room at all. 

They called him by his girl name, and he wanted to scream every time they used it. A doctor came and talked to him for a long time, and after a while, he got confused about what he was being asked about. Then there were a whole raft of tests, medical ones, that he didn't really want. They shone lights in his eyes, tested his reflexes, looked in his mouth, and examined every part of his body. It all felt deeply humiliating for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. He would've put up more of a fight if he hadn't felt so scared. They told him he had to do whatever they said because it was the law, and out of fear of being punished, he capitulated. 

There were other patients at the clinic, but he was kept away from them. He was led back to his room, and left alone. The sound of the door locking him in echoed around the walls, and he curled up on the bed, wondering if he'd ever get out of here alive. He'd seen enough places like this when he'd gone to visit his dad to know they only kept the really mad people there. Maybe that was why he was being kept away from the other patients, so they didn't hurt him. You never got to go outside, and they gave you pills, which made your dreams completely daft, and your body numb, and they just talked at you for hours until you felt like screaming. 

His mother had left him in this place, knowing what would happen to him, and as he lay there, he felt he might never forgive her for it if he ever got out alive, and still sane. He wasn't entirely sure he would be sane when he left, which frightened him terribly. They could mess with his head, and turn him into someone else, and he wouldn't remember who he used to be. He'd lose his mind, and never find himself again. 

Trapped in a small room with nothing for comfort, he cried until he was exhausted, and fell asleep, dreaming of escape and Mary and finding a place where he was loved for who he was, and there was always food and warmth and happiness, and he'd never feel sad ever again.

* * *

_Sparkhill, Birmingham, June 1958_  
Much had changed in Bev's life in nine months. The testosterone he'd been taking was beginning to work, and Bev was quite happy with how his body looked. He was beginning to look like a proper boy, all muscles and deep voice and whatnot, and after two more brief periods of menstruation, he hadn't had any more, which he appreciated. The only thing he lacked was a penis, a proper one. While he hadn't quite repeated the sexual experiments with Jasper that had occurred back in March when he'd first started menstruating, there had been several occasions now where they'd at least touched each other. Jasper was fascinated by how his body was changing, as was Bev, and well, it was just nice to be touched. Sometimes, all they'd do was be close, with their arms around each other, just so Bev could feel like someone cared for him. Other times, they'd lie together, side by side, and his cock would slip between his legs, and they'd move together until they were satisfied. 

It had done strange things to his desires. He wasn't quite sure there was anything significant in their experiments, even though it had changed and deepened their relationship in ways that he'd never expected. At the same time, he'd found himself looking at boys much more than he was dreaming about girls, and he wasn't sure if that was just a symptom of being at a boys' school, or something more. Girls were nice, but there were days when he didn't want that. He didn't want to be reminded of the body he hated. 

Telling Jasper his secret had brought him one good thing, though. Jasper helped him fit in far better than he had before. There were certain little things he hadn't quite got right, and knowing how to fake it with the other boys, and pretend he knew what they were talking about, worked to shift any sense of him as different. The hormones were helping, too, and there was little trace of femininity left in his body now. He didn't get picked on so much for being seen as effeminate, though it didn't always stop them picking on him for other reasons. 

His confidence seemed to have helped him make a few new friends, and while it didn't entirely alleviate the sense that he didn't belong there, it at least made him feel less like an outcast. They weren't the first to form a band, either, but being first wasn't necessarily the point. Being good was what mattered, and Bev was good. He'd been left with drums, because everyone else already had guitars, but it hadn't mattered, not to Bev. He was a natural, and once he'd learnt his father had also been a drummer in a jazz band, Bev just wanted to be better than anyone else, just to prove them wrong, and to make his father proud. It was hard to concentrate on his school work after that, not when there were other far more important things to be doing. He felt he finally had a purpose in his life, and everything else just fell away.

* * *

_Yardley Wood, Birmingham, late August 1958_  
Two months later, Chris' mother came for him. He was unceremoniously handed back to his mother, who sat him in the back as they were driven home in silence. Twelve years old and he was already a lost cause. He had never felt so abandoned in his life. 

He didn't remember everything that had actually happened to him, but what he did remember wasn't good, and he wasn't sure he wanted to remember the rest either. He remembered a lot of talking, and a lot of tests. After a week, they'd come and decorated his room so it looked like a girl's room, with pink and lace and dolls, and a cradle, as well as a doll's house with furniture. He was forced to stay there and play with his girl toys, even though he just wanted to smash them all. They scolded him if he tried to play with them like a boy would or if he damaged them. They made him wear dresses and skirts and blouses, and even a training bra, which cut into his chest and made his skin sore. It aggravated him, and if he hadn't been sedated, he might've fought them more. He wasn't really capable of much in the way of resistance, just boredom, and an itching desire to leave before it all got too much for him. 

But no matter what they did, and what they made him do, he had refused to be a girl, no matter how how much they zapped his brain or how many different pills they gave him or even how many dresses they put him in. The more they tried to force him to conform, the more stubbornly he refused to behave. They kept telling him he was a girl, but they refused to listen to him. He wasn't sure what the point of talking was. If they'd really been trying to help him, they'd have listened. Instead, they called him his girl name, and made him wear dresses, and told him they knew better than he did. 

He was sure he would always remember, in vivid detail, the room he'd been kept in. Boring grey carpet and white concrete brick walls. It had reminded him of a prison cell, what with the hard walls, the metal furniture, and the small barred window high on the far wall. He hated it. He sometimes felt he really was a prisoner, given how he would be locked in there when the doctor got particularly exasperated with his stubbornness. He remembered feeling sick a lot, and he thought that if making him sick was supposed to make him better, they were mistaken. It just made him feel sick and hate the people who were supposed to be looking after him. They were doctors. Doctors were supposed to make people better, not make them feel sick. 

And then there were the dolls. He remembered the dolls the most. Creepy horrible dolls with scrunched up faces and stupid hair and frilly dresses that had been imposed on him as if the mere sight of them would make him realise his folly and embrace his femininity again. They were there in his room as he slept, and he was too afraid of punishment to touch them or remove them from sight. Sometimes, he could've sworn they were talking to him. The nightmares had been terrifying. 

And at the end of it all, he was more convinced than ever that he was supposed to be a boy, and nothing at all would shake his belief. The doctors had said he was a lost cause, that he was morally deviant and would never amount to anything. But he knew he would always be a boy, no matter what they said, and if his mother couldn't accept that, then maybe he should leave. It wasn't like she'd notice he was gone. He'd be doing her a favour. 

He was shut in the attic once they got home after again refusing to wear the dress he'd been put in. He raged for a while, but there didn't seem to be any point. His family didn't seem to care about him anymore, not that they'd cared much before he'd been sent away, either. He was the crazy one, the one who took after their father. A lost cause, so the doctor said. That made it official, didn't it? What was the point in trying? They didn't care. He existed in a strange limbo where he was present in the house but invisible at the same time, no matter how loudly he screamed. It hurt more than he would ever let on.

He had always known he was different from his siblings. He was the only one with bright blond hair, and more than once he'd been scorned as a bastard child, that his illegitimacy was why he was mad and didn't want to be a girl. He tried not to listen to them, but it still hurt. He didn't even care if it wasn't true. That was never really the point. 

He had too many disturbing thoughts running around his head. The eerie laughter of dolls taunted him with menace and pain. He had no way of articulating these thoughts though, and no one was willing to listen. Exhausted, he lay down on the old mattress and cried himself to sleep, unsure how to deal with what had just happened to him. Nothing but nightmares haunted his dreams.

He was woken some time later to find his dad sitting beside him. He hadn't said anything, but he was there. He began crying again as his dad brought him into his arms, holding him close. They talked again, speaking their secret language, and the only thing he wanted to know was why his mother had done that to him. He never got an answer. His dad brushed his hair softly, and he found himself slipping into sleep again, curled into his dad's arms.

* * *

Chris snuck down from the attic just before dawn, when the house was still asleep. He hadn't slept very much at all, and left alone, he decided it was time to leave. He didn't want to leave, because he was afraid he'd never see his dad ever again, but no one seemed to love him anymore. He'd just be making everyone miserable if he stayed. He was glad he didn't have much to pack. Most of the things he loved were already at Mary's house, where they were safe. He gathered what was left of his belongings, and went to whisper a goodbye to his father. He left a soft kiss on his forehead, and nicked his lighter, before creeping out of the house and into what was left of the night. 

In some ways, he felt scared running away to a place so close to home, because he was sure that would be the first place they'd look if they came for him, but he didn't feel safe anywhere else. He wasn't sure his mother would make him come home anymore if he demanded to stay with Mary instead. He hoped she wouldn't fight him about it, and let him stay. He felt it was best for everyone. But maybe she'd make him stay instead, and if she did, he'd run away properly. Go to London or Manchester or somewhere else, and start again, far, far away from his family. He'd change his name, and disappear, and never see them again. 

The street lights were just beginning to go out, though the sky was still dark. The house was dark, too, and he felt a little bad for being there so early, but he wasn't going to stay at his mother's any longer than he had to. Not wishing to wake Mary, he crept round the back, and sat on the back step and waited, hoping she was still there. He wasn't sure what he'd do if Mary had moved away in his absence. He was deeply afraid that his mother would have made her leave so he didn't have anywhere else to go. It felt like the sort of thing his mother would do, because they always liked destroying the things that made him happy. He would look for her, of course, if she wasn't there anymore, but if he couldn't find her, what else was left for him then but the streets? 

His fears were allayed when Mary found him curled up against the door when she woke a while later. He hadn't quite fallen asleep himself, but he wasn't sure he wanted to sleep anyway. There were bad things in his head, and he wasn't sure how to get rid of them. Seeing Mary open the door and gesture him in finally allowed him to calm down. He was safe, for now. 

"I wondered when I might see you here again. Come in, come out of the cold. You look like you haven't slept for days." 

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and brought him inside, into the warmth. He didn't want to let go of her in case he lost her again. She sat him down in the kitchen and cooked them both some breakfast. 

"So where've you been? Your mother wouldn't say where you'd gone, so I was afraid you'd run off and were too afraid to come here. I'm glad you're alright, though. I was worried about you," Mary said.

Was he alright? He wasn't sure. He didn't really want to to talk about it, but he felt she deserved an explanation. "I got sent away to this horrid place. All these doctors, they tried to fix me, to make me be a girl again, but I refused. I got back yesterday, and didn't want to stay at home any longer. I just wanted to come here. I was afraid you'd left and I'd never find you again."

"You're lucky, pet, you'd have been out of luck if you'd been here next week. I'd have moved by then. I found a nice little place in Small Heath," she said.

He was suddenly afraid. "But- but why are you moving? Can I come with you? I don't want to go back home. Please don't make me go back home. I won't survive if I go back home, I'm sure of it."

She touched his arm, and reassured him everything would be fine. "You don't have to go back home, it's alright. You've missed a lot while you've been gone. I've been talking with your mother about having you live here with me, since it seems to make everyone happy. She wasn't exactly thrilled by the suggestion, but she said I was welcome to take you in if you turned up here. I hadn't planned to move, but I thought if you came back, you'd probably appreciate being somewhere else, somewhere new, where you weren't down the road from your family. I'd hoped it wouldn't be quite so soon, but a house came up that I wasn't going to turn down, so I'm afraid we'll have to spend the week packing. But you can stay with me as long as you like. I'm not going to turn you away."

His fears abated, just a little. He dared to hope things might be getting better. "You did this for me? You - really want me to stay with you forever?" 

She nodded. "Aye, I do, pet. There'd be some paperwork to make it legal, so I can be your mother instead, but then you'd be mine, and no one could take you away from me. You can change your name, too, if you want. Would you like that?"

"This could be my home forever? Oh, yes, I would love that. This is the only place I feel safe, when I'm with you. You take care of me. I don't care how many papers I have to sign, as long as I get to stay with you forever," he said, excited at the possibility of finally finding a home where he could be himself.

She smiled. "I thought you'd like that. Come on, eat up. We've got a lot of things to do today."

* * *

_Small Heath, December 1958_  
Chris had lost track of all that had happened since he'd left home and moved in with Mary. That first week had been very busy, and because of that, he felt he hadn't really had enough time to really digest what had happened to him at the clinic, either. There'd been lots of packing, and he'd had to brave seeing his mother again as they sorted out adoption papers. Chris couldn't quite believe he was actually being formally adopted. He had just expected he'd just go live with Mary, and that would be it. But his mother was willing to relinquish him forever, so he took the chance to change his name, and rid himself of his horrid birth name, and taken Mary's surname instead. He had no more ties to his old family, not now, not since they'd moved to a new place. He'd started at a new school, too. He had a chance to start again. 

In what was possibly the best stroke of luck he'd had in his entire life, in the middle of sorting out papers and where he'd be going to school, he'd been delighted to discover that his new birth certificate listed him as a boy. He had no idea how Mary had managed to get it changed, but the implications for him were enormous. He could wear the boy's school uniform instead of the girls' uniform, which would make him much happier. At his old school, he'd still been wearing the girls' uniform, because he didn't feel he had any other choice. But he had Mary now, and he could wear trousers, and cut his hair short, and it was alright. He was beginning to enjoy school, and he was certainly much better behaved now that they were letting him dress the way he wanted, and weren't calling him by his girl name. He still hadn't made any friends, but he didn't particularly feel like making friends. He'd never really had them anyway, so he was used to being alone.

His body was beginning to change, though. Mary had provided stability, and better nutrition, and he watched in horror as his body filled out. His hips became rounded, and his breasts had begun to grow. His body even felt different than he was used to, and he could feel it turning against him. He withdrew out of shame, and obsessed about keeping his body hidden. No one was allowed to touch him, not even Mary. He bathed for the briefest of time, ensuring that he was clean, but lingering no longer. Mary did her best to help him conceal his body, but there wasn't much else she could really do for him except prepare him for the changes that would come. 

His mind wandered into dark places. He did his best to be happy, but his body was all wrong, and he was terrified it might start bleeding any day now. He wasn't sure he wouldn't hurt himself out of desperation if that happened. Lying alone in bed, he wondered how things could possibly have become so bad, when things were meant to be so much better. All he'd ever wanted was to live with Mary, but now things were dark and scary, and he didn't know if he'd ever be happy again. 

There was a small, rational part of his mind that knew he needed help. He needed to find a doctor he could trust, really trust, to help him, but the prospect of submitting to that again terrified him. But he was dreaming about hanging himself if he started bleeding, and he just didn't know whether he could cope with it on his own. The cold winter possibly wasn't helping, either, but there wasn't much he could do about that. After the third dream, where he woke feeling short of breath, and desperate for air, he decided he had to try to trust someone, anyone, or he'd go mad like his dad. He knew enough to know the thoughts in his head weren't normal, but admitting he needed help was difficult.

He came home from school one day in a terrible mood. Some boys had decided to pick on him, and threw snowballs at him as he made his way home. He'd also failed an English essay, and had been asked to rewrite it, but that was the last thing he really needed at that moment. That little paranoid voice in the back of his head was whispering persecution again, and he believed it. Storming home, he went straight to his room and slammed the door, angry and full of rage, but unable to express it. He kicked a few things, and punched the wall, but it did nothing to calm him down.

He stood in the middle of his room, staring at the wall, wanting to do, well, something. But he felt powerless and he knew his mind was breaking. He could feel the tiny cracks beginning to emerge, and he wasn't sure he was strong enough to hold it back. As his fingernails dug into his palms, Mary brought him close, wrapping him safe in her arms. He hadn't heard her come in, and he fought her for a moment, but then relaxed, hanging on to her love for him. She'd been the only person in his life who'd ever cared about him. He had to hang on to that. It was the one thing that had kept him from falling over the edge. So far, it was working, but for how much longer, he didn't know. 

"We need to go to the doctor's, don't we? Can't have my brain falling apart. It's all dark in there, mum, it's all dark and full of horrors. I don't know how to make it stop. 'm afraid it'll fall apart soon, and I'll be broken. No one'll want me if I'm broken," he murured, settling into her embrace. 

She stroked his hair gently and kissed the top of his head. "It's alright, pet, it'll be alright. I know you're scared, and you've been hurt in the past, but I won't let them hurt you anymore. I'll be with you all the time. We can fix this together, pet, and fight off all those demons for you."

His composition was breaking, and he could feel the tears pooling in his eyes. To realise someone cared about him was still overwhelming. "Find someone who'll make me a boy. Make me a boy so I can stop hating myself. I can't bear to see myself, and I'm scared of bleeding. I don't want to bleed, mum, I don't want to bleed. Make me never bleed. Please. I'm begging you. Please don't make me bleed."

"I'll do my best, pet. We'll do what we can to make you happy. It might take a while, but I'll always be here for you. You're always safe with me. No one can hurt you when I'm here," she said.

He turned to her and cried against her shoulder, clinging to her. Everything hurt, and he didn't know how to make it better. He just wanted to be happy. He wanted to be happy; he just wanted to live a better life, one where he could be himself, and live with Mary who cared about him, and be happy. That's all he wanted. He didn't think it was that much to ask of the universe.

"Come downstairs. I think I've got something you might enjoy, if you can let yourself enjoy it, pet," Mary said.

Wiping his tears away, he nodded, and held her arm as she led him downstairs to the front room. He sat on the sofa as she got some old records out. She offered them to him, and he took them with interest. He recognised a few from his father's collection, but the rest he didn't know. 

"What's this, then? Me dad had some of these. We used to listen to them together, when he was home..." He trailed off at the memory, and was surprised at how powerful it was for him. He fought back the urge to cry as he looked through them. "Where'd you get them? Are they yours?"

"They're ones my husband brought back for me when he was stationed in America many years ago," Mary said.

Chris found himself understanding her reference. "During the war?" 

Mary nodded. "My son sent a few back, too, ones he picked up in Liverpool. I always did love music more than they did." She picked out one of the albums, and set it playing on the record player. "This is the one I wanted to show you. I used to listen to it a lot after the war, when all I had was grief for company. Maybe you'll like it too."

Chris looked at the sleeve, and the woman on the front. And then he heard her voice, and recognised the pain she was singing about, and he didn't even try to stop himself crying. She gave words to what he couldn't say. He'd heard nothing like it before in his life, but it touched him, and it offered release. Mary sat down beside him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

"Let it all out, pet. Just let it all go. Maybe it won't fix it, but it can give you the chance to heal. You've been through so much, and the world hasn't been kind to you, but let it all go, and give yourself a chance to smile. Let it all out so you can live again, and prove them all wrong," Mary said softly, rubbing his back gently.

The music played on. It was all he was aware of. He remembered screaming at one point. He might have also punched the sofa, and thrown a cushion. All he remembered was an outpouring of rage and pain that he'd never allowed himself to let go of before. He'd never felt safe enough letting it go, so he'd bottled it all up inside because it was safer. But Mary's hand was there on his shoulder, keeping him close, and he screamed at the ceiling, daring the gods to give him a break. 

The silence that followed the rage was strangely calming. Chris hadn't ever realised how exhausting catharsis could be. Curled up beside Mary, he said nothing, and let himself experience the deep feeling of release that had settled inside him. His chest didn't feel tight anymore, and the dark thoughts in his mind didn't seem quite so bad. Everything hurt, but it had lost some of its power.

"It'll be alright, love. Scream when you need to. Howl at the moon. But don't let it destroy you. Never let it burden you. Find some way to let it go, or you'll never be free. Never forget to be alive in the world. Trust someone who's been there and came out the other side," Mary said softly, stroking his hair.

Chris shifted, and clung tighter to her arm. He took a deep breath, and savoured the sensation. "Never forget to be alive, hey? I'll do my best."


	3. What's Your Name?

_Sparkhill, March 1959_  
"Oh, you gotta see this, mate, it's incredible," Bev said as he led Jasper into his room after school.

"Oh, you got something new to show me? What's it this time? Have you grown a cock overnight?" Jasper asked, laughter in his voice.

Bev shut the door. "Well, almost. I don't think that'll ever happen, but man, you should see how much it's grown. And my breasts are finally gone. I don't have to bind anymore!"

Jasper was suitably impressed. "Man, I was beginning to wonder when they'd disappear. I can't say I won't miss them, but I'll just have to get used to your male chest now. It doesn't look weird, does it, now that they're gone?"

Bev pulled his shirt off, making a point of proving he wasn't wearing any bindings. There was still a little sagginess around the areolae, but other than that, they didn't look any different. "C'mon, have a touch. What'd you think?" 

Jasper went over and cupped a hand over what was once a fleshy breast. The increase in his muscle mass was much more obvious now, and could be felt in his chest. "Y'know, I never thought you'd actually lose them. I was half convinced you'd need to have them surgically removed. I remember how big they were. How they've shrunk down to nothing amazes me. You'd never know to look at you."

Bev grinned. "Eighteen months, and they're fucking gone. I can't tell you how happy I am. I was so tired of binding, and it's much easier to play drums now. I don't get so tired out from it, because I can breathe much better now."

"I had wondered why you'd suddenly got much better. You're hitting harder now. I can hear it," Jasper said.

"Yep, I'm almost breaking sticks now, and I had to get a new snare drum last month, because I broke it during practice," Bev said. 

"Well it would, the way you play them," Jasper said.

"Tune 'em low, hit 'em hard. It's very therapeutic," Bev said.

"So does that mean your breasts have sunk between your legs and grown you a cock, then? Or are you just exaggerating how big it is?" Jasper said, half-teasing.

"I wish I had grown a cock, but no, it's just swollen a lot. It does look like a tiny cock, though," Bev said. "Wanna see?" 

"I've seen everything so far, you'd hardly deny me this, would you?" Jasper said. "C'mon, don't be shy. I wanna be impressed again."

Bev had to smile at his words. Jasper had indeed been witness to much of his transition. After that first afternoon, when he'd told him what he was, and bared everything to him, literally, Jasper had become the one person allowed to see him naked, and watch as his body changed. The changes were all being documented by his doctors too, but with Jasper it was different. With him, it was just about growing up, and seeing how their bodies changed. Jasper had marked every milestone with him, and he was reluctant to stop him now. It had been a while since he'd seen his genitals, though. There hadn't been a lot of growth there for a long time, but it had begun to change during the past three months, and it was finally at a point where Bev felt it was noticeable enough to show off. 

Slipping off his trousers, he sat on the bed, and invited Jasper over to join him. Scooting up the bed, he spread his legs, and parted the labia, so he could see how it had changed. His clitoris wasn't more than an inch long, but it stuck out like a penis, and even the hood resembled a foreskin, in a manner of speaking. 

"What'd you think? It's just come the past couple of months. The tip's really sensitive. I have to be careful what I do and what I wear, because it can get irritated really easily," Bev said.

Jasper smiled. "Sounds like a real cock to me, then. Welcome to the boy's club. Can I touch it, then? Or will I send you mad if I do?" 

"No, go on, I've never stopped you before. I want to know what it's like to have it touched, too. I know what it feels like when I do it, but it's always good to have you do it too," Bev said.

Jasper extended a hand, and gently ran a finger along the length of the enlarged clitoris, and Bev shivered at the sensation. He took it between his fingers and stroked him. He gently rubbed his thumb over the head, and Bev stiffened, feeling a rush of blood to his genitals. He almost wished he could touch himself down there without turning himself on, but he'd been reassured it was just normal hormonal surges, and it would settle down as he got older. Bev almost believed the doctor when he said that, but he still didn't think he was particularly normal. Most boys, and most girls, didn't have a cock like he did. 

"So is this the part where we see whose cock is bigger? Because I think I've won that hands down," Jasper said.

"Oh, come on, that's hardly a fair contest. I bet I could hold out longer than you could, though," Bev countered.

Jasper knew when full well when a competition was being offered. "Is that a challenge, hey? What's it worth?"

"Last place in French for the next term. You in?" Bev said, offering his hand.

Jasper thought about it for a moment before nodding, shaking his hand. "Deal. That place is mine."

Bev always loved the fire in his eyes when challenged. It was half the reason they bonded all those years ago. Their competitive streaks were entirely complementary, and never weak to jealousy. It was competition for the sake of it, as a way to fuck the system at school, or just to pass time. Bev had learnt long ago that competitiveness always deflected any sense of him being a girl, particularly when he was just as good as those who challenged him. It had earned him respect, and had saved him from more trouble than he'd care to admit. 

Jasper stripped as Bev made sure the door was locked before they began. The last thing he wanted was his mother charging in on them. His hormones were raging, but at least they'd settled down now. It was all about the testosterone now, and he was really beginning to enjoy it. His enlarged clit throbbed at the prospect of masturbation, but he knew he'd have to slow down, and make it last. He went over to his bed, and settled down, preparing to begin. Jasper joined him soon enough, and sitting opposite him, the tension was palpable. 

"I don't care that you've grown a cock overnight. I'm still going to beat you, though," Jasper said.

Bev smirked and checked the time on his watch. "Alright, we're starting at 4:15pm. First one to come loses."

Jasper calibrated the time, and got ready. Hands fell between their legs as their eyes watched for the moment to begin. All was still for a moment, and then-

"Go!"

It was hard not to start in a hurry. They'd done fastest wank before, and while Bev hadn't won them all, he'd still won a fair few of them. He could come fast if he really wanted to, or he could draw it out so long his clit ached for release. He started slow this time, just gently stroking his fingers up and down, sliding them between the lips. Jasper was going slow, too, but Bev rather felt he had more options than his friend, and let his fingers dance around and play with everything down between his legs. 

There was always an element of teasing involved. Trying to get the other one to break was part of the challenge. In some ways, they were both best suited to this; Bev could still sort of pretend to be a girl, and slip a finger in and out of his vagina, and Jasper could hit all of Bev's desires for boys and play with his foreskin, squeezing the head tight, and occasionally fucking his fist. Sometimes, Bev would stroke himself, and then lick the juices off, sucking on his fingers as if he were sucking on a cock. 

It was the only time Bev missed having his breasts, because he couldn't squeeze them and play with them anymore. Jasper used to love that, and it was always a sure-fire way to distract him in the middle of a wanking contest. Still, he had other tools at his disposal, and concentrating on making Jasper come did sort of distract him from his own pleasure. Maybe next time, they'd try to see who could have the most orgasms, because Bev was pretty sure he'd win that one. 

Their eye contact was firm and unwavering. It was a battle of wills as much as anything else, and whoever cracked first usually lost. Bev flicked his fingers around his clit, and down between the lips, trying his hardest to make it look like he was touching himself, when in fact he'd learnt to ghost over the skin, and I n some cases, not make contact at all, in a bid to make it look like he was still playing. Sometimes, the almost-but-nearly contact was just as good, and it made him shiver. 

He shifted and turned around so his back was facing Jasper, and bent over enough for Jasper to almost see his genitals. It was as much of a tease as anything, offering himself as he kept his arousal going. He still had to be aroused, no matter what. You weren't allowed to win by not coming at all. He rubbed his fingers down between his legs, and gazed back over his shoulder, trying to see if it was working. 

"Oi, quit it, Bevan. You're not going to win like that," Jasper shot back.

"Don't tell me you don't want it. You want to check how wet I am? Get that sweet stuff on your cock?" Bev teased.

Jasper did duly move over to him, but not to fuck him. He took hold of his hips, and blew a raspberry on his back, just underneath his neck, and Bev shivered and laughed, surprised by the sensation. His hands were threatening to begin a tickle war, and Bev knew he had to fight back. Finding the space to turn around, he moved forward, pushing him back, and kissed him, distracting him from a hand slipping down to stroke his cock, trying to entice him into coming before he did. 

Jasper slipped a retaliatory hand between Bev's legs, and they remained that way for several minutes, neither willing to break away. Bev did guide his cock between his legs, and brought him close in a bid to get him off first. He didn't want to do it for too long, because his cock was rubbing against his clit, and it was threatening to throw him further along than he wanted to be. With one final kiss, he pushed him away, and sat back, sprawling against the bed head, and tried to calm himself down. Jasper settled down onto his knees, and stroked himself, watching Bev work himself. 

They stayed that way for another twenty minutes. Bev was bringing himself close, and then letting it slip away, wondering if Jasper was able to control himself that way, too. Looking for a way to break his concentration, he looked around for something to use, and saw a drum stick on the floor, just within reach. He shifted and grabbed it, settling back as he began rubbing the tip between his legs.

"I didn't know we were allowed to use other things," Jasper said. "You gonna share?"

"I doubt you'd find much use for this unless I stuck it up your arse," Bev said. "But by all means, find a thing to fuck, if you so desire. Just none of my precious things. You know what they are. Anything else is fair game."

Bev sat back and lazily rubbed the tip of the drum stick around the labia, and teased his clit with it, while Jasper gazed around, trying to find something to use in return. Just when he caught Jasper gazing in his direction, Bev turned the stick around, and began sliding it inside his vagina. He'd done this before, on his own, but he was curious about how Jasper would react to it. He slid it in and out slowly, making an exaggerated show of how much it was turning him on. It did what it was intended to do, and Jasper stopped looking for something to stare at him instead. 

"You wanna fuck me, Jasper? You wanna feel what it's like inside me? You're missing out, you know. I've got great rhythm," Bev said. 

He wasn't sure he actually wanted Jasper to have sex with him at that moment, but the effect of his words was what he was after. He noticed him fisting himself faster, and the more Bev teased him with the drum stick, slowly moving it back and forth inside him, the more agitated Jasper got, and as he took it out, and ran his tongue across the wet drum stick, he saw Jasper fall apart, propping himself up with one arm as he came hard onto the bed. 

"You're a fucking tease, Bevan."

Bev grinned. "Last place in French is all mine, thank you, sir!"

Jasper cursed, and Bev, in sympathy, finished himself off, now that he knew he'd won. His body was warm and satisfied, and once they'd cleaned up, and made sure no trace of their contest remained, lay down beside each other, and let the warmth spread between them. Bev offered a soft kiss on his cheek, and Jasper smiled. 

"Alright, I give in. You're better at this than I am. But I demand a rematch. You're too much of a tease," Jasper said.

"Well, I'm right to go again right now, but I don't think you are, so it'll have to wait for another day," Bev said, almost wanting to goad him into trying again, but knew it probably wasn't going to happen. 

Jasper slipped a hand between Bev's legs. "Yeah, sure, another day. You'll be going down, Bevan. I'll make you so frustrated you'll beg for mercy."

"Oh, them's fighting words, my friend. You just wait till I get four sticks in me, and see how long you last," Bev teased, not entirely seriously.

Jasper didn't honour it with a response. Instead, he slipped a finger inside him, and kissed him, and stroked his clit with his fingers until he came again, body wracked with pleasure. Breathless, Bev held him close. The war was over, for now.

* * *

_Small Heath, July, 1959_  
Six months had passed, and while Mary had done her best to find him a doctor to help him, all they were finding where closed doors. Chris was disheartened, and for a while, he did feel quite deeply abandoned, that he'd be left to deal with this on his own, and no one would ever help him. Mary kept his spirits up as best she could; music, and her love for him, made things seem a little better. At least Mary was still looking. She'd tried half the counties in the UK so far, and Chris was sure she'd keep on looking until she found someone who'd be willing to help Chris transition. 

He'd been to see a few doctors, too, the ones that were at least willing to assess him before rejecting him. While they generally recognised him as a transsexual, they wouldn't treat a 13 year old boy; no one would even consider any treatment until he was at least 21. All they would offer him in the meantime was a prescription for anti-depressants to help with the suicidal thoughts. Chris felt he might've been satisfied with that if they had actually worked, but they didn't. They just made things worse, so he stopped taking them. The withdrawal symptoms were an extra kick in the teeth he didn't need. He still went, intermittently, to talk therapy, when he felt he could stand it, but it often felt too much like the last time he'd been sectioned by his birth mother, so he stayed away, in spite of what potential help was being offered to him. 

May had brought menarche, much to his dismay, making the search for a doctor much more urgent. Mary did her best to distract him and reassure him during that first period, just so she didn't lose him. Chris wouldn't lie and say he hadn't thought about harming himself, but she stayed his hand, and once the initial discomfort wore off, it wasn't so bad. He only needed to face it when changing tampons. Other than that, he didn't think about it, and he was actually amazed at that. He had dreaded menstruation for so long that he was sure he would never be able to forget he was bleeding once it started, but to know he could ignore it if suitably distracted gave him hope that he could survive this while he searched for help. 

At least he had Mary. When he was able to think more reflectively on his life, he knew he was much better off than he had been at home, and in spite of the struggle and heartache that had once followed him around, things were better. He was in a new place, in a new school, where he was a boy, now. That alone had relieved a lot of his distress, and while it would always trouble him to look at his body, to know he was accepted as a boy and never questioned was better than he could ever have dreamed. That small sliver of acceptance made the distress bearable. While he might not be able to physically transition yet, at least he knew it was an option now. He could live as a boy, and never feel like he was being forced to lie and be someone he wasn't. That freedom alone had finally allowed him to relax a little, and chance making a friend.

He wasn't quite ready to commit to making an actual friend yet, though. But he had at least started going to the park after school with some boys in his class to play football, finally accepting the invitation that had been offered since he'd started there. He wasn't particularly good at football yet, but it didn't matter. Bonding with sport was easier for him, and it got him out of the house. Mary was always chiding him for staying inside so much. There were moments when he did get quite panicked about being outside and with other people, but the joy he got from playing with the other boys made him brave. They even asked where he was if he missed a game, and their genuine concern was still surprising to him. He went as often as he could so he didn't let them down.

Chris had never been very good at dealing with other people. Missing school so much had left him with few skills and little confidence in making friends. He'd never been particularly sure he wanted friends, not when he was sure they could see through his clothes, and see the girl he didn't want to be. He wasn't even really sure he knew how to be a proper boy, because he wasn't sure he'd been around anyone other than his older brother long enough to know what he was meant to do. He knew there were rules about these things; no one would've cared about him wanting to be a boy so much if they weren't so convinced he was transgressing his birth sex so much. He just wasn't entirely sure what most of the rules were, and now that he was in a better place and attending school more regularly, he was beginning to puzzle them out. Most of it wasn't making much sense to him, because it all felt so arbitrary, but he tried his best to emulate the boys that seemed to like him. They were the best role models he had. Still, it was better than nothing, and at least he felt his mood improving, albeit slowly. Perhaps he wasn't a worthless child who didn't deserve to live, after all.

* * *

_Small Heath Park, Small Heath, September 9th, 1959_  
Chris was the last to arrive at the park. He still hung back, even though he'd been invited to join them. His apprehension disappeared as he went over to them, leaving his satchel with the others under a tree nearby. One of the boys kicked the ball over to him, and he ran to meet it, sending it back with much more finesse than when he'd first started playing with them three months ago. With Chris, there were now seven of them, all boys from his school, though not all from the same year. They'd known each other longer than Chris had known them, but they were happy to let him come along and teach him to play football. 

"See, Chris? You're getting much better. You wanna captain? It's your turn, you and Tully," one of the said.

Chris felt he would've baulked at the suggestion three months ago, but he was beginning to get to know these boys. He'd first been asked to captain six weeks ago, since they all took turns, and while their team did lose, he didn't take it as badly as he thought he would. Being responsible for the loss was one of those things he felt might send him down into the dark rabbit hole of his mind, but the camaraderie afterwards saved him from that, much to his surprise. So to be trusted with captaining a team again was, Mary would reassure him, a good sign that they trusted him and liked him. He already had half an idea who he wanted on his team. 

"Alright, sure, I'll captain. You wanna go first, Tully, or should we toss for it?" Chris asked, turning to Tully, a taller boy with ginger hair.

Tully shrugged. "You go first."

"One by one?"

Tully nodded.

Chris took a breath, and gazed at the boys waiting to be picked. He saw that Matthew wasn't there that afternoon, which would complicate things, because he was the best striker in their group, but at least if he couldn't have him, neither could Tully. 

"Benny, c'mere. You're with me," Chris said, making his first selection.

Benny looked pleased to be picked, and ran over to Chris, standing behind him. Tully picked David, which Chris was a bit disappointed about, but Jeremy was just as good. Steven went to Tully. With only Frank left, he was the designated ref to give each team the same number of players. They usually dispensed with goalies for a three on three match; the object, then, was to just get past the other team and score. The ball could be blocked by anyone, but since no one was the goalie, no hands were allowed. At least made it an interesting challenge, and Chris was kept on his feet trying to work with his team in a constructive manner. It took enough effort to cope with that, particularly when they wanted to get close and tackle him. He'd learnt to deal with it, but he felt anything more than eight people was too much. A smaller group suited him better, and as they took their positions on the marked out pitch, he let himself feel energised at the prospect of the game. They flipped a coin to decide who would kick off, and Chris lost. It didn't matter. They would play for twenty minutes, and break, and then it'd be his turn to kick off. If no one scored by then, penalty shoot outs until there was a winner. That was the only time they had a goalie. 

Keeping an eye on the ball, he almost managed to steal it as Tully tried to pass it to David, but he misjudged the distance, and they got through. They weren't so easy to beat, though. Chris had played with Jeremy and Benny before, and they knew a few tricks to blocking unwanted intrusions into their goal square. They worked well together, Chris thought, and he felt he had a better rapport with them than with the other boys. He wasn't about to suggest they were friends, not yet, but the potential was there if Chris could allow himself get that close to them.

He almost scored, too, near the end of the first half, weaving past Tully and David to try and kick the ball just past them and through the goals, but he misjudged the angle, and it went just outside. He ended up colliding with David on the way, and while he didn't crash to the ground, his shoulder did hurt afterwards. He was always quite peculiarly sensitive to being hit, but he had learnt to take it and move on, because no one would come and kiss away the pain. Rolling with the punches was sometimes literally how he had learnt to survive. 

Being hurt playing football was a different kind of hurt, though, one he wasn't used to. The lack of malice gave it a different feel, and it had taken a while to stop flinching and feeling like it was all his fault if he shoved past another boy or was tripped as he went for the ball. There was a part of him that had always wanted friends, and it fought hard to get him past his fear of the physicality of the game, and let himself get into it the way they were. That connection with them, and their shared interest, gave him a sense of belonging he'd never felt before. 

In the end, Chris' team managed a late second half goal to steal the match one-nil. It was a bit of a scrappy match, but the win more than made up for it. Getting through the match with only a few scratches, and a bruised shin from a clumsy tackle, felt like an achievement, too. He was getting better, after all. He wasn't sure it would ever be a game he would excel at, but it gave him something to do outside the house with other boys, giving him a chance to make sure he was behaving like a proper boy as much as he was able to do so.

* * *

"Y'wanna come round? I'm only down the road from you, after all," Jeremy said as they walked home afterwards. Living in the same street, they often walked home together, and perhaps it had led to a closer friendship - or the potential for one - more than with the other boys who lived in other parts of the suburb.

Chris hadn't expected the question, and it took him a moment to think of what he wanted to answer. "Uhm, sure, that sounds nice."

Jeremy smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not going to bite you. Jus', you look like you could do with a proper friend, and I doubt any of the rest will bother. I mean, they all like you, but - friends?" 

He offered his hand, and it took Chris a second before returning the gesture, appreciating the offer. "Yeah, friends. I ain't never had a friend before. Always too much of a loner."

"Yeah, I knew that from the first day you arrived. Had that haunched over look, y'know? Avoided looking at anyone. Seen it before. But you're alright. Bit weird, but I don't mind. You're alright," Jeremy said.

Chris straightened in response, realising he was staring at his feet as they walked. "Well, y'know, when you're weird, and no one likes you, I just- Sorry."

"You got nothing to be sorry for. Had it rough at home, hey?" Jeremy said, and his voice offered more sympathy than Chris expected.

Chris shrugged, not particularly wanting to talk about it. "They all ganged up on me. Got adopted when I was 12. Left home for good. Pretty sure it saved my life."

"Families can be shit, hey? Sorry, man. You still wanna come round?" Jeremy said.

"Maybe, for a while. Cos you're just down the road, an' all," Chris said, fighting away his shyness. 

"I mean, you don't have to. It's hard to be around people all the time, isn't it? Sometimes, I just want to be alone, away from everyone else," Jeremy said.

Chris nodded. "Need silence to think, y'know? It was so hard at home. Too much noise. Too many people. But it's just me and Mary now. Much better. Much quieter."

Jeremy thought a moment. "Maybe we ought to go to your place, then. I got three brothers and two sisters. I could do with some quiet."

"Do they miss you when you're gone?" Chris asked.

Jeremy shrugged. "Sometimes. I'm not sure they always notice."

"They never noticed me when I disappeared," Chris said. "Sometimes, I felt I could disappear for days, and they wouldn't know I'd been gone at all."

"I did that once. I went to Matt's house for a week, and they hardly knew I was gone. I'd do it more often, but it's not like they don't care, mum just can't keep up with six kids," Jeremy said.

"You can come round to mine if you like. I mean, if you need a quiet place. I know it's hard living in a crowded house like that. And it's not like you'd be far away," Chris said.

"I think I might. It'd be nice to be alone for a while," Jeremy said.

Chris felt proud that he didn't panic at the thought of having him come over to his house, but Jeremy was becoming a kindred spirit, someone who was like him, who needed the silence to think. Chris was sure he'd never met anyone else like that before. They walked the rest of the way in silence, watching the rest of the world rush around them. 

The smell of supper cooking greeted them when they got home. Chris went through to the kitchen and found Mary preparing a roast. 

"Hi, mum. Um, I brought a friend over. Is that alright? He just lives down the road," Chris said, unsure if it was even alright to do so. It had never come up, since he'd never had any friends who'd wanted to come round.

Mary turned to look at them. "Well, as long as he's willing to help with the dishes, he can stay as long as he likes. We're eating in ten minutes. Why don't you go get cleaned up?"

"Sure, we'll do all the dishes, don't worry. Thanks, mum," Chris said.

"Has your friend got a name, then?" Mary said.

"It's Jeremy, ma'am. I go to school with Chris," Jeremy said by way of an explanation.

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Jeremy. It's about time he got himself a friend. Go on, off you go. You're both filthy from playing football, I can tell," Mary said with a smile.

"Yes, mum, thanks, mum. We'll be down in a bit," Chris said, then turned to Jeremy. "Come on, let's head upstairs."

Chris led Jeremy upstairs and went to his room. It was a bit messy, now that he looked at it, but he wasn't sure he cared at that moment. "Just leave your things here, you can get them later." 

"Sure. Your mum seems nice, though," Jeremy said. "And it is quiet here, isn't it? I mean, when you ignore the street noise."

Chris shrugged. "I got used to tuning it out. I don't even notice it much anymore. Besides, this street is much quieter than my old street."

"Where'd you used to live, then?" Jeremy said.

"Yardley Wood. Arse of a place. I never want to go back there again," Chris said. "It's better here. Like, there's less noise, and the houses don't all look like they're falling down, and I don't have a bomb site to play in."

"So was that why you were taken away, then? Couldn't your mum take care of you?" Jeremy said.

Chris shrugged. He'd sort of come up with a cover story that he could use that wouldn't give away his status as a transsexual, but he'd never needed to use it, and he had no idea how credible it was. He wasn't sure what else to tell him, though, so he decided it was better than an outright lie he might never be able to keep up.

"Sort of, yeah. She raised me as a girl. She just wouldn't listen when I said I was a boy. I wasn't taken away, though. She was trying to put me in a dress again when I was six, and I ran away instead, and found Mary down the road. Her house was my refuge, and I always made it back there, no matter how much my mum tried to stop me going there. I spent the last two years mostly living with Mary. Mum didn't miss me. So when she - she sent me away to see if someone could fix me and make me a girl, and of course it didn't work, but I knew I couldn't stay after that, so I ran to Mary's. Mum didn't even fight it when I asked to be adopted. She signed all the papers and everything. She can't do anything to me now. Changed my name, and moved here with Mary. Everything's better now, definitely, yeah," Chris said, telling mostly the truth. 

"Sounds brutal, man. Why'd she want to raise you as a girl? That sounds like a daft idea," Jeremy said.

"She's daft, that's what she is. And of course I'm the youngest, so she told my siblings I was a girl, too, and they always got mad when I kept saying I was a boy. They all ganged up on me. Sometimes I wonder how I survived," Chris said.

He sat down on his bed, momentarily lost in thought. He wasn't sure he wanted to remember those things just yet. Jeremy sat down beside him. Silence passed between them for a while. Eventually, Jeremy touched Chris' hand, just for a moment. Chris looked over at him, unsure how to react to the gesture.

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't sure - you might not want to be touched. I know you're weird about that, like, from football," Jeremy said, shifting away a little. 

"Oh, right - I mean - I don't remember telling anyone, I just-" Chris began, unsure how to feel about how well Jeremy seemed to know him.

"You, well, you didn't need to say it, did you? I know, see? I've seen it. I know what it's like. Touching's weird," Jeremy said. He scrunched his face up at his words.

Chris shifted to face him, and studied him for a while. "I thought you said your house wasn't as bad as mine?"

Jeremy looked away. "I - it's probably not, but it's too loud, and there's no space, and I can't always breathe in there. My brothers tell me off for being a girl, that I should be more like them. But I don't - I see them get into fights, and they drink too much. They don't know I know that, but I see it. I see everything in that house. I don't want to be like them. I just want to be alone in the silence and play music, but it's not enough for them. I don't even really like football, but Matty's been good to me, and I don't want to disappoint the lads."

Chris saw it then, in his body language, in a way that he'd never really appreciated in his own behaviour. Jeremy didn't need to say anything more, because Chris knew exactly why he didn't want to be touched, either. That brief moment, where Jeremy touched his hand, was the most he was capable of. Chris wasn't sure he could do much better. Being touched by anyone other than Mary, or while he was playing football, was not something he chased.

"Stay here, then. I don't know if I could let you go back to that," Chris said. "I did wonder why I saw you flinch every so often."

Jeremy shifted uncomfortably. "What's the point? It's not like anything's going to get better. Been in trouble too much. I've hardly got any reason to try anymore."

"Maybe you need another mother, then, one who cares. I got one. I never used to go to school before, because I never saw the point. I'd be around people who hated me all day, and then have to go home to more people who hated me too. Why bother? But Mary saved me. I'm a boy now, and I don't have to wear dresses. Maybe all you need is another mother, a better one," Chris said.

Jeremy didn't look entirely convinced by the suggestion. "I'd have to move away, far from where my brothers could find me. I know they'd chase me if they knew. I know they mean well, and they care, but I'm not like them. I need to do my own thing."

Chris slowly, hesitantly, reached over and touched his hand, letting it rest there a moment, before he withdrew. "I just - I care. About that. I mean-"

"I know. I know."

Silence fell over them again. It lasted until they were called down to supper. Chris perked up a little as he ate, and he noticed Jeremy did, too. After supper, Chris took Jeremy back to his room, and they sat at opposite ends of the bed, reading in silence. Chris could hear the radio from downstairs, but it was quiet, and he liked listening to the songs he could hear. Sometimes, they were barely audible to him, but he could still pick out the beat, and every now and then, he could mouth the lyrics of songs he'd heard many times before. Music had changed his life, he was sure of it, but he was still trying to figure out how. 

Chris shifted after a while, trying not to disturb Jeremy as he tried to subtly get his attention. As he sat up, Jeremy looked over at him. 

"Hey, you said you play music, right? What kind of music do you play?" Chris asked.

Jeremy blushed a little, and Chris guessed no one ever really asked about it. "Oh, just - records, y'know? I got a guitar from my uncle last year. I keep it next door so my brothers don't smash it. I go there when I want to play it, because Sam, there, he plays guitar too, and he's teaching me to play. Do you play music, too?"

Chris shook his head. "Nah, I wouldn't know what to do. I like music, though. Mary's got a lot of records, from the war, y'know? Some of them are good. Cathartic. Yeah."

"You should play, maybe? I mean, Sam's sister plays drums, but we don't have a bassist. You could come and play with us, if you want. Then we can stop playing football," Jeremy said.

"Me? Play bass?" Chris thought about it a moment. It didn't seem quite so daft when he thought about it. "Maybe. I'll ask mum. She might say yes."

"I mean, you don't have to, but we could - it'd be nice to see you more, like, not for football. And we need a bassist. The songs don't sound the same with a tuned down guitar. It needs a deeper sound," Jeremy said.

"So you're serious about this band, then? I thought you just played together," Chris said.

"The more time I spend playing with them, the less time I spend at home. And it's good, too. I like playing. I don't think about - well, I don't think. Not about that stuff, y'know? Maybe you'd like it too," Jeremy said.

Chris shifted a little closer. He'd never considered playing music before, but maybe Jeremy was right. Maybe he would like it. "Well, listening to records stops me thinking about those things. Maybe playing would help, too. Maybe I can find a way to release it, like the way some music makes me release it. Maybe I can do that too."

"Sam's written a couple of songs. I reckon they'd sound better with a bass line," Jeremy said. "You can follow the beat, right? I don't think you'd find it too hard to pick up."

"I hope not. It'd be nice to play. Maybe I could finally play those songs I love for myself. The bass in those songs is like a heartbeat. It resonates, y'know? Sometimes I lean against the wall and just listen to the bass, feeling that heartbeat. It's soothing. I wonder what it'd be like to play it," Chris said. He could feel the idea beginning to take hold in his mind, now. The tips of his fingers began to itch.

"It's so great to play. I mean, no one but Sam and Jenny know how good I am, but maybe if I can find somewhere safe, I might play in public. We've talked about it, finding a place to play. Maybe once we leave school, and we're good enough. Maybe then. It's all I've got. I've got nothing else. Sometimes, it's all that makes me wake up in the morning," Jeremy said.

"Then, maybe I should take up bass, so we've got a proper band. It'd be nice to do something other than football, you're right there. I like it, but not as much as they do," Chris said. "It's the touching, yeah."

Jeremy nodded, understanding. "Yeah, I know. I hold back sometimes, if it's going to hurt, but you never know. At least you don't have to worry about that, but yeah. Touching. I hate tackling."

"Yeah, I know. I mean, we might still play every now and then, yeah? Because I do like them. But I'd rather play music with you and your friends," Chris said.

"Come round tomorrow, yeah? Like, come over and meet Sam, and Jen, and we can play music instead of football. Maybe you'll like them too," Jeremy said.

"Alright, yeah, that'd be nice," Chris said.

Jeremy offered a smile, and Chris returned it, and after a moment of silence that acknowledged the end of the conversation, they both went back to their reading, taking strength from each other's presence. They both read until they fell asleep, sharing the bed where they had been sitting. Mary found them as she went to bed herself, and gently tucked them into bed. Half woken, Chris reached for Jeremy's hand, holding it for a moment, before leaving just a finger touching his hand, as he let himself drift off to sleep, happy he had found a kindred spirit, and a friend.

* * *

Making their apologies to Tully and the rest of the boys, Jeremy and Chris skipped football and went straight to Jeremy's neighbour's house, where he kept his guitar. Sam's mother let them in, and Chris followed Jeremy upstairs, where they found Sam and his sister, having just arrived home themselves. Chris was a little scared at meeting new people, but if Jeremy could make friends, he felt he ought to be able to do it too, and told himself to be brave.

"Hey, Sam, I found us a bassist," Jeremy said by way of an introduction.

Sam went over to them, and his smile was encouraging. "Oh, yeah? What's your name? Can you play, then?" 

Chris shyly waved. "Um, I'm Chris. I can't play yet, though, but mum'll get me a bass guitar for Christmas if I'm lucky. I'd like to play, though. Jeremy thought he oughta introduce us, y'know."

"I've got a spare you can play till you get your own, if you like. I learnt bass first before I got a guitar. It's cheap and basic, but I can teach you, if you want," Sam offered.

"That'd be great, yeah. I'd love to have a go, just to see how it feels to play. It's like a heartbeat, bass lines, y'know? I like that," Chris said.

Sam nodded. "That's it, yeah. You might come good, who knows? At least we could move on a bit if we had a bassist. It's a bit hard with two guitars and drums. I really need a bass line."

"Well, I hope I'm good enough. I wouldn't want to disappoint you, though I wouldn't be surprised if I did. I disappoint a lot of people," Chris said, trying and failing to talk himself up.

Sam brushed his comments aside. "Nah, I got a feeling about you. I think you'll be better than you think you can be. C'mon, Jen's already down in the basement. I'd like to see how good you are, and how quickly you pick it up."

Chris wasn't expecting to have to play so soon, but he was keen to try now. "Alright, sure."

"C'mon, then, the sooner we start, the sooner I'll know if you're the right bassist for the band," Sam said.

Sam gestured for him and Jeremy to follow, and led them down to the basement. Chris wasn't sure he liked the basement, given its dark, claustrophobic atmosphere, but as he stepped into the room, he felt Jeremy almost deliberately brush a finger against the back of his hand, and glance at him over his shoulder. 'S'alright, man, it'll be alright," he said with his body, as he encouraged him to enter. 

Summoning his courage, Chris went with them, and took up the bass Sam offered. He showed him how to hold it, and where to put his fingers. Chris thought it was the most natural thing in the world, to hold that bass. Strumming his fingers across the strings, and feeling that vibration run through his body, he knew he'd master it. That bass held a promise of a better life.

"Is it meant to feel this good? Because I don't want to let go of it," Chris said.

Sam grinned. "I had a feeling you'd be right for that bass. Take it home, if you like. It's just collecting dust here. You'll ace it soon enough, if you feel that attached to it."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to - it's too much to take it home. I'd better - I'll leave it here, so it's safe," Chris said.

"You only live down the road, though, and you have a quieter house than mine. I'm sure it'd be safe there," Jeremy said. "Besides, you could practice, then."

"Are you sure? We only just met. It seems to soon to be giving me a bass," Chris said, reluctant to take it.

Sam insisted. "The sooner you can learn to play, the more useful you'll be to us. Take it home and practice with it. You know where to find me if you need me."

Chris thought a moment before replying. "Alright, if you're sure. You'd better teach me how to play this thing, then, so I've got something to practice."

"With pleasure," Sam said.

They spent the next hour playing. Chris had learnt the basics, though he wasn't confident enough to play through a whole song, yet. Sam had taught him how to read music enough to follow the bass lines to play, and lent him a score for a song they'd been learning. Sam challenged him to learn it in a week, just to see if he could do it. Chris decided it was a challenge worth attempting, and went home, bass and score in hand, determined to prove them wrong.

* * *

_Small Heath, March, 1960_  
Chris had been playing with Jeremy and the band for nearly six months now. He'd been the most surprised at how easily he'd picked up bass, though he still had to work at competence. His playing was good, but like the rest of the band, none of them were ready for any sort of performance yet. Sometimes, Jenny lost her timing, or Chris played the wrong chord. Sometimes it just didn't work. But none of them gave up. Chris hadn't felt he had any purpose in life until he found that band. Having other people trust and rely on him was a motivator, and he spent long hours shut away in his room, practicing the songs until his fingers hurt. It didn't exactly distract from his growing body, but it did give him something else to do, and that, he supposed, would have to do.

Jeremy was over every other afternoon, guitar in hand. The band would meet up at least twice a week, as well, to practice together. While they weren't that good yet, there was potential, and Chris was glad to find something he felt would change his life for the better. He became the driving force, pushing them to get better, to practice longer, to learn more songs. He was actually good at something for once in his life, and other people were willing to acknowledge his growing skills too, and he wasn't about to give that up for anything. Maybe the band would never make them really famous, not yet, but Chris knew better than anything that one day, they would play in public, for better or worse. They had to start playing gigs, or it would all be for nothing. As scary as Chris sometimes thought that was, he knew it would just be another hurdle to get over. There was no point in playing if all he was ever going to do was play in a basement and never let anyone else but the band see them perform. 

Chris had been writing scraps of songs, trying out different bass lines, and Jeremy had bits of lyrics that occasionally turned into something cohesive. Writing together, they had managed to piece together half a song, but it was rough and unpolished, and neither felt good enough to improve on it. Still, it did help get some of the terrible things out of his head. Chris wouldn't have said he was that good with words, but somehow that changed when he started putting them to music. Somehow the words strung together much better. He could find beauty, and pain, in them in a way he couldn't when he just wrote them down on their own. Music brought them to life, in all their awful glory. He did sometimes worry about all the dark things he was writing about; Jeremy's songs were a little lighter, and perhaps a little more whimsical, but Chris fell headlong into the truth, dressed up in pretty language, refusing to conceal the hand he'd been dealt. The catharsis was the most important aspect of his song writing. 

When they weren't writing songs, they were trying to play along to their records, with mixed success. Chris had found it a good way to learn songs, and the more he listened to them, the better he got. Jeremy was better at scoring them from memory, which Chris thought utterly magical. Chris was only good at knowing he was playing the right melody; he'd never have the skills to write it down. He felt that was beyond him. Jeremy persisted in trying to teach him how to do it, though. It wasn't that Chris didn't see the point of it, but he just didn't think he'd be any good at it. It was hard for him to connect the sounds in his head to the notation on the paper. It took a lot of practice, and a lot of persistence, in order to get it right, and Chris was thankful for Jeremy's patience with him. 

Chris had known right from the start that he was lagging behind them. He'd had none of the musical tuition they'd all had, and there were moments where he wasn't sure what to do, but Sam was good at encouraging him, and it began to work. Knowing he couldn't let them down, either, if he didn't know his part, was a good incentive to practice, though Mary had to tell him to focus on his school work every now and then so he didn't fall behind there, either. Chris had never been a brilliant student, but he liked school well enough now that he wasn't as inclined to drop out as he used to be. He had friends, and they were depending on him. It was different now, and Chris wasn't sure he'd change it for anything.

Jeremy had proved to be a good friend. The winter had made it hard to play football very often, not when there was a better offer of a warm basement and music to soothe his soul. He'd had a couple of run-ins with Jeremy's brothers, though, who didn't take kindly to what they perceived as another girl befriending their girly brother. It took all Chris' strength and resilience not to take it as personally as it was intended, and not lash out at them for misgendering him. Being called a girl was as much an insult to his masculinity as it was to Jeremy's, but it went much deeper for him. If Jeremy hadn't been there, and hadn't taken his hand, he might have raged at them and risked exposure as a boy with a girl's body. Fear overcame his urge to fight back, though he wasn't sure how long that would last. Maybe all his life. Then again, the rage kept building whenever he saw them, and he wondered when he might explode. He was sure there was only so much punishment from society he would take before he hit back.

Jeremy always stopped him, though. Jeremy would calm him, when they were alone, and out of sight. Up in Chris' room, or in the basement at Sam's house, anywhere they wouldn't be seen, Jeremy would take him aside, and talk him down from his rage. It was the only time Jeremy really touched him with any firm determination. Jeremy was very sensitive to anger, and he could see it in Chris' body. Chris couldn't fool him there; Jeremy always knew, and always called him on it, and in spite of their very good reasons for being angry at the world, Jeremy stopped him, because he knew it was what they wanted. The world wanted them to lash out. His brothers wanted him to lash out and fight, to be violent like they were, and Jeremy refused. His pacifism, and inaction, was a protest as much as anything else. He didn't want to be like them, and the more Chris saw of them, the less he wanted to be like them, too. He could see Jeremy's point, even though it did frustrate him to feel like inaction would just make him stagnate and die. 

Chris felt he'd spent too long doing nothing. Fighting the system, and trying to make it responsive to his needs was not easy, and the longer he went without anyone responding only served to make things worse. He felt trapped. He knew there was help out there for someone like him, to make him into a boy, but it was being denied to him at every chance. No one wanted to help him, though before they'd started looking, Chris hadn't exactly expected help, either. The world had never really wanted to help him. No one wanted to help him, not a poor transsexual kid who was probably just daft like his father. 

At least Jeremy, and the band, gave him something to live for. They proved to be a good distraction from his growing body. Menstruation was always a problem, but he'd learnt to live with it. He was thankful it wasn't giving him a great amount of physical pain. Mary had told him horror stories about women she'd known who'd had it worse than him, where they'd be bleeding for weeks, or the pain was so great they were bedridden for days. At least Chris was still able to do things. All it really did was inconvenience him, and force him to deal with that part of his body for a week. He never touched it at any other time, unless he was bathing, because it was just too uncomfortable to know it was wrong. There was hair down there, and flesh, and all the wrong parts. He didn't want to be reminded of that any longer than necessary.

But as much as he loved Jeremy, he never expected he'd grow so close to Jenny. He'd never expected he'd be good at making friends with boys, let alone girls. She was a year older than him, and she often came round, on her own, just to talk to him. She said he was the only boy she could ever talk to, particularly because he was so new to the area, and didn't know enough people to spread any gossip around. Chris did at first take that as an insult, but he did see her point. Of course she'd know too many people, given she'd grown up on the street. Chris hardly knew anyone, though that was more from his lack of interest in interacting with people than anything else. Maybe that did make him a good bearer of secrets. 

"I don't know why I feel I can talk to you so much, Chris. You're not like the other boys at all. You're too sensitive, too quiet," Jenny said, lying on his bed one afternoon. 

Chris looked over at her. "Well, I've never really liked boys, have I?"

She shifted to face him. "It's not that..."

She trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. Chris offered a quizzical look, but she didn't clarify. For a moment, Chris wondered if she'd noticed. Maybe, because she was a girl, she'd seen the girl he really was. It wasn't like his body was developing the way a boy's should develop. He was getting curvy hips, as much as his slender body would admit to having curves, and his breasts were fuller now. Binding them took more effort than he liked. He didn't think he looked much like a girl, though. He'd done his best to hide all those bits. 

She sat up, and touched his cheek. "I'm sure you have your reasons, though. You don't have to tell me. You look as beaten up as Jeremy does. I mean, you were adopted, though, so of course, but still..."

Chris wasn't sure what to say to answer her. He'd never particularly hidden that from her, nor from Sam, though she knew more about it than her brother did. Jeremy knew as much of the story as he was willing to tell, but he'd never felt brave enough to tell Jenny. He was afraid she might not understand, or she might think all the wrong things. He was never sure how she'd react. It had taken enough strength to tell even one person the edited version of the truth he was willing to admit to; he wasn't sure he could do it again. 

"I, well, it's just - "

She pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't, not if you don't want to. Just - I'm here, if you need me. I hope you know you can trust me."

Chris shifted, and for a moment, he almost felt relieved, because to have her not demanding to know was a good thing. He could just leave that unsaid, and maybe he'd never have to tell her. He did like her a lot, though. Mary had often told him honesty with friends was better than lying, but she also said she would understand if he wanted to conceal the truth. He wasn't always in a position to be able to trust people, and know his secret would be safe. He didn't really know what to do, though. He was at least sure that she wouldn't hurt him, but what else she might do, he couldn't say. He'd grown to like her too, as much as she liked him, and she'd managed to get him used to touch in a way that no one ever had before. Only she was really allowed to touch him at all, except for Mary. Not even Jeremy touched him, though Jeremy had his own issues with touch that made their lack of contact mutually acceptable.

Jenny frowned then as she caressed his skin. "Your skin feels wrong, though. And your eyes, they're just... Why don't you look like the other boys? Why don't you behave like them? I'd never trust the other boys to be alone with them like this. They're always trying to kiss me. But you never touch me. I don't think I've ever seen you look at a girl before, either."

Chris grew uncomfortable, then, hoping she wouldn't trace that logic through and realise he was not quite the same as the other boys. He opted for a half-truth. "I just - I told you before. I don't like touching. It's weird."

"No, it's not just that. I mean, Jeremy said you were raised as a girl, but there's just ... There's something not right about you," she said, still trying to work it out. "And I don't mean that's bad, but you're not like the other boys. That's why I can talk to you."

Anxiety hit him then, and he had no idea whether he was about to be found out. Should be tell her, and be done with it? Or keep her guessing? Not even Jeremy knew what he really was. Would she even buy his half-truths? He knew, the older he got, and the more time he spent with the other boys, that he was developing differently. Was it actually possible for her to know what he really was? Could his body be giving himself away in ways he'd never really anticipated? Perhaps he ought to go back to being a hermit, and avoiding talking to anyone. That seemed to be safer.

"Is it really that obvious? Maybe I'm just that messed up. But I've never really had any friends until you lot came along, so maybe it was just oblivious to me. I still don't think I'm any good at making friends, though. I think I'm too weird, and they all just leave in the end. I mean, why would you want to be friends with me, anyway?" Chris said.

"Because you're nice, and you listen." She paused a moment, and her face suddenly shone, as if she'd just had a brilliant idea. "Oh! You're a girl, aren't you? That's why you're different."

Chris shook his head. "No, not a girl. Never been a girl. Mother raised me as a girl, or tried to, at any rate. But I'm not a girl."

"No, you're a girl. That's why your room doesn't smell like a boy's room. I always did find that so strange," she said.

Chris got up, not wanting to have this discussion. He went to the window, and stared out at the grey sky. "I'm not a girl, I'm really not. Maybe you'll never understand, but I'm not a girl, and never have been. I know what I am."

She looked confused, and approached him, staying back a little. "But, no, your body, you can't be a-"

"I never asked for this shitty body. It's not my fault I didn't get the right one. But I'm a boy. Never try to suggest otherwise," Chris said. He turned to her, and saw her standing there watching him. "Are you going to trust me? I know who I am. I don't let others define me."

"So - wait. You are a girl, but that's not who you are? You're a boy? No way. That's daft. You're daft, that's what. You're a girl. Of course you're a girl," she said.

Chris offered nothing but a serious expression that deflected attention from the fear flooding his body. How was he meant to get her to keep quiet about it if she didn't understand, and wouldn't accept, his own word about his identity? Could this be the end? Would he have to move again so no one ever found out? Was it really that hard to tell someone else? 

"I've told you what I am. If you don't want to believe me, fine, but at least have the decency to keep this to yourself? I could be killed if anyone finds out, y'know, like Jeremy's brothers? I'm sure they'd kill me if they knew. I'd be just another queer corrupting their brother, and a girl, at that. You know them better than I do. You can't tell me they wouldn't care if they knew," Chris said, knowing it was at least a possibility. He'd had enough interactions with them now to know they would not be particularly friendly towards him. They already thought he wasn't masculine enough, just like Jeremy, and often teased them for their friendship. He could only imagine it getting worse if they knew the truth.

She was silent as she thought about that for a moment. "How can you possibly be a boy with a girl's body? That makes no sense."

"How do you know you're a girl, then, hey? Why are you so sure you're a girl? Would you be a boy if you woke up tomorrow as a boy? No, you'd probably still see yourself as a girl, wouldn't you?" Chris challenged. 

Jenny faltered a little at his words, but as she thought about his question, it began to make sense. "Alright, I've never thought about it like that. It's not the sort of thing you ever really question, is it? It's that vital to you, to who you are. I know who I am, and so do you. I know I'd be distressed if I woke up as a boy tomorrow. That would be wrong. Everything would be wrong."

"That's what it's like for me, except it's real, and I've lived with it my whole life. Trying to get everyone to use the right name, and the right pronouns, and to let me stop wearing dresses and growing my hair. I've known I'm a boy since I was three. I know it in my bones, in my body, in my heart. It's who I am. You can't take that away from me. Do you really want to know what I've been through? Because I can tell you horror stories. I can show you every inch of my fucked up mind. I'll show you the scars. I'll show you where I was beaten. I'll show you exactly why I hate being touched."

She seemed to shiver at his words, but didn't shy away. She stepped a little closer, and reached for his hand. Chris almost wanted to pull away, but she seemed to understand. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as he feared it might be. She stood a little taller than him. Chris, at that moment, hadn't appreciated just how similar their bodies were. Perhaps she was always going to work it out.

"Don't tell me about those things. I've heard enough from Jeremy to guess, and that's enough for me. I - I suppose you menstruate, then, don't you? I guess you have breasts and all those other things that aren't right for you," Jenny said, her voice soft.

Chris lowered his gaze. "It was alright when I was a kid, but it's not alright anymore. I couldn't stop it doing the wrong things. I started - y'know - a year ago, maybe? It's awful, but what can I do? I bind, I deal with that when it happens, and I try to pretend it won't be like this forever. If I make it to twenty one, maybe things will be better then, if I live that long."

She was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice belied her calm expression. "How can you not be sure you'll live that long? Is it really so bad for you?" 

Chris shrugged helplessly. "They won't help me until I'm twenty one. I've got to live with this horrid body another eight years. Eight years! I don't know if I can last that long, I really don't. They said I had depression last time I was sectioned. Maybe it'll kill me before I get old enough for them to help me. I've already tried killing myself before, when I was ten. I think about it a lot, though it hasn't been so bad since the band started. Yeah, it's been a little better. But it never goes away, not really. I hate this body."

She brought him into a hug then, and he fought it for a moment before he heard her crying against his shoulder. Tentatively, he held her back, wondering why she was so upset. 

"No. No. Don't you dare. Don't let them win. You're the nicest boy I ever met. Please hang on for me. I don't think I could forgive myself if I lost you," she said.

Her words struck him in a strange way. He'd never had anyone speak about him like that before. "Do you - really care that much about me? Why would you care that much? I'm nothing special."

She looked up at him, smiling. "I don't think you've ever known how special you are. You brought the music alive. Your soul is beautiful, even if you don't think it is. Your friendship means a lot to me, it really does. It's not just because you're a nice boy I can talk to because you're a stranger, but I like you. You're gentle and kind, and you've never treated me the way other boys treat me. I can just be me when I'm with you. I don't have to be a girl. I can just be me, and I don't have to be afraid of you. Maybe you don't understand how important that is, but it's important to me."

"You're not going to tell anyone, are you? About what I am? Because I'm so scared someone will kill me if they find out. I'll be hurt and beaten, maybe drowned. I don't know. I just know it's dangerous to tell people. Not even Jeremy knows about this. I couldn't bring myself to tell him. I wasn't sure I trusted him, and we don't really talk that way, not like we do. I can tell you things I won't tell anyone else," Chris said.

"Don't worry, I won't tell. If it keeps you safe from his brothers, I'll keep quiet. I don't want you getting hurt," she said.

"I - thank you, I-"

Chris didn't get to finish as she brought him into a gentle kiss. It was a sensation as strange as it was pleasurable. Affection and intimacy were still things he wasn't really used to, even with her. She'd stopped him flinching quite so much, but it was still weird to be touched and experience no pain. But she cupped his cheek, and stroked his skin softly, and somehow, it began to feel alright, even if he didn't quite understand why she was kissing him anyway. He was lost for words when she pulled back a little, smiling at him. 

"I'm sorry, I just - you're the nicest boy I've ever met, and I knew you'd never make the first move. I wasn't sure you'd ever kiss me unless I kissed you first. I - that was alright, wasn't it? I wouldn't want to hurt you. I know you're not really used to affection, are you? I'm sorry. I won't do that again if you don't like it," she said.

"N-no, no, it was - I mean, I just-" Chris wasn't sure he had any words for that experience. "I'm just not used to - but I mean, I - it was nice? I think? It's meant to be nice, isn't it?" 

Chris was sure he was blushing, and he was sure he had no idea what he was meant to do. Friendships had been hard enough to get used to. He wasn't sure he was ready to handle a girlfriend. Did he even want a girlfriend? He wasn't sure. Desire had never been something he'd thought about. He wasn't even sure he'd ever thought about that long enough to feel like it was something he wanted. 

She touched his cheek. "It's alright. I'm sorry if I scared you. I won't do it again. Let's just be friends for now. Just know I care about you, alright?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah, yeah alright. That'd be - nice. Thanks. I suppose I could - because you'd understand, wouldn't you? About things - like, what my body does. I ain't never had anyone to talk to about that before, not someone my own age."

"You know I'll listen if you ever want to talk about that. I bet it's all really hard on your own, particularly if it all feels wrong. I might never be able to really help, but at least I can listen," she said.

Chris took her hand, reassuring himself of her presence, and her kindness. He never willingly touched anyone else, except perhaps Jeremy, and Mary. Jenny squeezed his hand gently, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Chris felt himself blush again, and allowed himself to just feel that sensation for what it was. Feeling brave, he returned the gesture, and tried to push away the desire to flee. She moved away from him then, and he appreciated the space. He smiled.

* * *

_Sparkhill, June, 1960_  
Bev had to admire himself. He'd been taking testosterone for nearly three years, and for all intents and purposes, he was indistinguishable from his peers, except for what was between his legs. He was nearly six foot, with good muscle tone, and a deep enough voice that no one believed he'd ever been female. The girls he would take on dates, just because he could, never noticed, and though he was never quite brave enough to go very far with them, other than steal kisses in the dark, it felt good to be accepted as a man. 

The band were doing alright, too. They'd already played a few proper gigs, which had given Bev a taste for performing. It wasn't a bad way to make a living, if he could get to the point of making a living from it. There were certainly worse jobs to do, but he wasn't sure he was good at anything else, and at least playing in a band would give him more of a pass for being different than a normal job might. Besides, as the drummer, stuck up the back in a dark club, well, it wasn't like anyone would really notice if, for some reason, he still looked a little too feminine. It was safer that way. None of this particularly helped him focus on his school work, though, but he'd given up trying a long time ago. He was a year away from finishing, and he really didn't care anymore. 

Things with Jasper had settled down somewhat. Most of the physical changes Bev'd experienced were beginning to settle down now, and most of the transformation was done. All he'd really been able to notice were the changes in muscle tone, and his height. He was taller than he expected he'd be, but at least he wasn't so short he was more like a girl than a boy. He knew he still had some growing to do, or so the doctors kept telling him, but at a couple of inches shy of six feet, Bev wasn't sure how much more height he could manage. He felt tall enough already. At least Moseley Grammar kept him busy with sport, which helped him run off all his energy. Anyway, the band had brought distractions in the form of pretty girls, and the intimacy he'd shared with Jasper wasn't as important anymore. Neither of them felt bad about it, because they were still close friends, but they didn't need that anymore, and that was fine.

The consequences of running off all his energy, though, had resulted in a broken left wrist due to falling off his bike during a race with his mates after school one afternoon. It had brought him no real benefits at all, except for the last week of term off, which wasn't even much good because there was nothing left to do except try to pretend he didn't need to go back after the summer for one last year. He couldn't drum, and he couldn't ride or swim or play football, so he went to the cinema instead. That was, perhaps, the only good part. Still, he didn't let it hold him back. His cast was a trophy, a prize for proving he was as tough as his mates. He had the summer to recover, anyway, and even if he wouldn't be able to do all the things he'd grown used to doing during the summer, at least he had the time to recover without having to worry about school. He could go to the cinema all summer if he wanted to, since he couldn't really do much else. 

He still went to band rehearsals, though he wasn't sure what the point was. He might be out for six weeks, and then he'd have to retrain his wrist all over again. He'd decided he might just quit, and let them find someone else until he was up to playing again, but he never quite managed to go through with it. At least he could still pretend he was part of a band, even if all he did was hang around and try to learn the songs as best he could so he'd have less to do once he could play again. 

It was looking to be a quiet night in. He didn't normally mind, but his wrist was sore, and he wasn't sure he felt up to doing anything much at all. It wasn't often he felt like sitting still for more than half an hour, but it was hard when moving made his wrist hurt. As he went to settle in the front room with a book, he saw Jasper and Eddie waving at him from the street. They gestured him out, and he was glad to see them.

"Alright, Bev? We're heading into town. You wanna come?" Eddie asked.

"Maybe. Where you heading, then?" Bev said.

"Moat House. There's a good bill on tonight. Might drop by the Cedar afterwards if you want," Eddie said.

Bev considered it. "Alright, sure. Beats staying in, that's for sure. Gimme a sec to grab my coat, and I'll be right with you."

Thankful for a distraction, Bev headed back inside to let his mother know he was heading out. She normally didn't mind, even if he did have to be back before midnight. Soon enough, he was back with his friends, walking to catch the bus into town, making plans for a good night out.

* * *

_The Moat House Club, Birmingham, June 1960_  
The Moat House crowd were growing steadily by the time they arrived. Bev actually liked it as a club. The drinks were cheap, and they usually had good bands, and even if he did have to try to make it up the narrow staircase every time, it was generally worth it. Much entertainment could be had from watching the older punters get drunk and try to get down the stairs in one piece. Bev could always tell which girls were new to the club, too, because they didn't wear sensible heels, and often tripped up on the stairs. At least it offered a chance for Bev to be gentlemanly and help them up when it happened. Turning the charm on, he could usually score a date half the time if he played his cards right. 

Making their way through, they found a spot towards the back, where there was a bit more space. They normally went further to the front, but Bev wasn't keen on being squashed between all the others, and potentially hurting his wrist again. It wasn't a total loss, though. It did give them a little more breathing room, and Bev could at least perch on a stool by the wall and gaze up over the crowd to the band. Eddie went to get drinks, and Bev drank in the atmosphere.

"Sometimes I think I'd have to break both your knees to get you to stay still. I don't envy you spending the whole summer in a cast, though, poor bastard. That'll teach you to race that fast," Jasper said, amusement dripping from every word.

"Oi, I was almost gonna win it till I bloody fell. Mum thinks I should be grateful it was only my wrist. I can't do anything with this cast on," Bev grumbled.

Jasper just grinned. "More fun for me, then. I assume you'll spend your summer at the cinema then. That's about all you can really do now, isn't it?"

Bev nodded, though he didn't look disappointed by the suggestion. "I bet I can swing a few dates with this, too. That'll make it worth it, I reckon."

"Yeah, the sympathy vote only works until they get to know you, y'know. Then it's all over," Jasper said.

"You jest, but I know you're jealous. I can see it in your eyes, man. I always get the girls, man, cast or no cast," Bev said confidently.

Jasper just shook his head dismissively. "I don't know, you're not even a proper band, and the fame's already gone to your head."

Bev had to laugh at that. It was true enough. It wasn't that the band weren't good, because they were, but it was hard to make much progress when they still had school to attend, and couldn't play as often as the other professional bands. Bev wasn't perturbed. School only lasted one more year, then he could play as many gigs as he could manage, just to make up for lost time. Sometimes, he thought he was being too ambitious, but what was the point in being stuck in amateur bands for the rest of his life, as if it might somehow take the edge off having a proper job? No, Bev was quite sure he was going to play in bands until he died. He felt he'd be wasting his talent if he did anything less. 

He was drawn from his thoughts by the singer on stage. He'd never heard a voice like that before. He didn't recognise the singer, but he didn't look much older than he was. 

"Who's that, anyway?" Bev asked, nudging Jasper.

"Hmm? I dunno. Eddie said he knew the bands. I can't say I've seen these guys before, though. They're good, though, whoever they are," Jasper said.

"That, they most definitely are," Bev agreed.

Bev watched, entranced, as they watched him move from raw rock to soulful jazz and everything in between. Bev could recognise real talent when he saw it. He was sure he could sing anything, and it'd sound brilliant. He was a bit of a looker, too, and by the time they'd finished, the whole audience were utterly charmed by him. Bev wanted to know who he was. He kept his admiration to himself, though. He wasn't willing to be caught in any way demonstrating that he found the singer attractive. That would be confessed only at home where no one could hear him. Maybe he'd go see them next time they were playing, and see if he could meet up with him. 

Bev felt that was the highlight of the evening, and wasn't entirely paying attention to the rest of the bands. He didn't mind, and nor did his friends. They were there to chat and watch the girls as much as they were there for the bands. It wasn't their night, though. The girls weren't particularly interested, but Bev didn't blame them. They all wanted the singer they'd seen earlier, and Bev knew he wasn't going to win that battle.

* * *

_Sparkhill, Birmingham, September 1960_  
Bev had hoped his wrist would have healed by the time he went back to school for his final year, but it wasn't to be. He was healing slower than he'd like, and knowing how long it would take to recondition his wrist again once he could play his drums, he decided to quit the band, for now, and focus on getting his wrist healed. It was a frustration he didn't want, but he couldn't play with a broken wrist, so it would have to heal first. 

It wasn't the best way to begin the school year, though. The sympathy wasn't so great anymore, and he still had to be careful he didn't break his wrist again. Maybe if he'd been able to play sport with the rest of them, he'd have felt less useless, but he'd been cautioned about doing anything physical that was potentially likely to result in injury until he had the cast off, and he felt that might be another fortnight away. Why his bones were taking so long to heal, he didn't know, but it felt like the biggest set back he'd ever experienced. 

The whole summer had been a write-off, and all he'd been able to do was go to the clubs and cinemas, meet his friends, or stay in and listen to music, if going out wasn't an option. He'd spent more time being bored than he'd have liked, but at least he had his friends who attempted to distract him. And for a while, he did get a few sympathy dates from girls who took pity on him and his broken wrist. It didn't last once he quit the band, though. They just weren't as interested if he wasn't playing gigs. This did offer some motivation to get back into it as soon as he could, but it still took its time. He knew how hard he liked to play, and he knew his wrist wouldn't stand up to that kind of torment too soon. The last thing he wanted was to damage himself to the point where he'd never play again. That just wasn't an option, not anymore. 

June felt like it was years away. The summer heat was fading fast, and the long, dark winter was on its way. He'd have to get through that and survive the year before he could quit, and start making a life of his own. It would certainly be easier to play gigs when he didn't have school to worry about. He could play as many gigs as he had time for, and even if he might need a day job to start with, just until he could find a professional band to join, it would be better than being stuck at school studying a thousand things he didn't care about that didn't have anything to do with the life he wanted to lead. But at least next summer wasn't that far away, not really. The year would go fast, he knew that from experience, and his final exams would creep up before he knew it. He might not care about them, but he felt he might at least try not to deliberately fail them all. He was still good at English and Art, and he had no intention of doing badly in those. At least that would be something to look forward to.

* * *

_Small Heath, Birmingham, late September, 1960_  
The summer had been a strange one. Chris felt he hardly saw Jeremy at all, and when he did, it was only for sporadic rehearsals. Chris tried to get him to tell him what was wrong, but Jeremy pushed him away, and told him it was none of his business. Chris didn't have the strength to nag him about it, because he could gues what the problem was, but he didn't want to assume, nor get himself in trouble. 

Jeremy's reluctance to get close to him had hurt. Chris thought they were close, but seeing him pulling away, and distancing himself from Chris and the band made him question that. The one friend he'd thought he'd made was not as interested in that friendship as he'd hoped, and it took all of Jenny's and Mary's strength to reassure him that it wasn't his fault. He'd sworn off making friends one week, since the one friend he had had left him. Clearly he was better on his own. 

His anger didn't last. It never really did, not once he'd learnt how to release it and deal with it in a way that wasn't going to eat him alive. He didn't dare go round to Jeremy's, lest it just get him beaten up, but he still heard the arguments down the street, or if he happened to walk past there on his way elsewhere. He could see Jeremy's brothers getting up to no good from his bedroom window at night, if he was awake to see them slinking off. He'd seen Jeremy with them a couple of times, which just confirmed to him the cause of Jeremy's distance. He stopped blaming himself then. This time, it really wasn't his fault. But he still didn't know what to do about it. Leave Jeremy to deal with it on his own, or try to help? Jenny told him not to interfere. It was too dangerous. His brothers were much older and stronger than him, after all. He'd be beaten into a bloody pulp if he tried to stop them. 

Even once school started, he could tell Jeremy wasn't the same anymore. He'd become much more withdrawn, and rarely played football anymore. Chris hadn't seen him play with them in the band for weeks. Chris would watch him walk home, shoulders hunched, staring at the footpath, hands shoved deeply into his coat pockets. 

"Hey, Jeremy, how're you doing?" Chris had said as he approached him one afternoon, needing to try to reach him.

Jeremy glanced at him, shrugged, and walked a little faster. Ace grabbed his arm, and stopped him, and Jeremy offered no resistance, not this time. He still refused to look at Chris though.

"What's wrong? I know something's wrong, because you never play with us anymore, and I ain't ever seen you look this much like a kicked puppy before," Chris said.

"Just stay out of it, will you? There's nothing you can help me with, not if you don't want to get in trouble. They told me not to talk to you," Jeremy said.

"I've seen you with them, you know, your brothers, from my bedroom. I've seen you sneak off into the night. Are you working with them now? I thought you didn't want to do that?" Chris said.

Jeremy pulled free. "It's not something you'll ever understand. Just keep away or you'll get in trouble. I have to forget you, or I'll lose you. Forget me, alright?" 

"Jeremy, wait!-" 

Chris went after him, but Jeremy wouldn't speak to him, and when he tried to give chase, Jeremy sprinted off, and went to hide somewhere else. He wasn't sure he could just forget him, not like that. He was hardly going to forget the first friend he'd ever made. They'd shared too much intimacy for that. All the time they'd spent together, even if they said nothing at all, that wasn't just going to be forgotten. But Chris knew the threat was real enough, as much as he didn't want to believe it.

* * *

A few days later, a letter was waiting for Chris on the kitchen table. It had been hand-delivered. He almost didn't want to open it, but curiosity got the better of him. His last conversation with Jeremy was still troubling him, and he didn't know what to do. Still, he hoped he'd at least got through to him that he wanted to help, or at least talk, even if Jeremy didn't make a show of it. Maybe he couldn't, at that point. Maybe he was being watched. 

The letter was short, and it was from Jeremy. He recognised his handwriting. All it said was:

_'I'll speak to you at school. You know where.'_

Chris did know where he meant. They'd found this small concealed space out of sight of almost everyone, and they'd spent many lunchtimes together there, when they needed solitude and silence, away from everyone else. As far as he knew, no one else went there, so it was probably the safest place they could meet. He hoped Jeremy might at least talk to him about what was wrong. Not knowing was doing his head in, and he kept imagining all the trouble he was potentially getting himself into because of his brothers. 

Chris was at school far earlier than usual, just in case Jeremy wanted to meet before school began. He hadn't specified when he wanted them to meet, but Chris felt he'd keep going back until he showed up, and only worry if he heard nothing else, or didn't see him for over a week. Making sure no one saw him, he snuck around to their secret place, and slipped inside. He found Jeremy curled up under a blanket, and he looked like he'd slept there the night before. Seeing Chris there, he pulled him in, and pulled the hessian over the opening, hoping they hadn't been seen.

There wasn't a lot of room, but Chris managed to find some space to sit near him. "What's this about, then? What's wrong?" 

Jeremy looked around furtively, still worried he might be watched. "I can't tell you much, but please, stop worrying about me. I'm fine. Things have just been - busy."

"Is that why you're sleeping in here now? How long have you slept in here? Isn't it freezing?" Chris said.

Jeremy shook his head. "I just needed space, and I didn't want to bother you or Sam. I didn't want to bring you into this too."

"What are you doing, then? What's so bad you have to keep us out of it? Aren't I still your friend?" Chris said.

"I can't talk about it. The less you know the better. But it should be over in a few weeks, and then we'll be alright. Just - trust me. I'm fine. But I can't see you right now, because things are really difficult at the moment, and I know I'll get in trouble, and you'll get hurt, if we're seen together. It's better this way," Jeremy said.

"So what do you want me to do then? Just wait until you're allowed to talk to me again? What about the band? What about us?" Chris said.

"I've already told Sam about that. I'm still in the band. I just can't rehearse right now. But I'll be back soon, and then it'll be alright," Jeremy said. 

"What've they got on you? I thought you didn't want to work for them?" Chris said.

Jeremy shifted away, as much as the space allowed. "It's not like that, it's just-"

"Well, what's it like, then? What am I meant to think? We'd made big plans for the summer, but you're off running with them when I know you don't want to. I just thought our friendship meant more to you than that," Chris said.

Jeremy avoided the question. "I really can't talk about it, Chris, please don't make me. It's complicated, and I didn't want to get involved, but it'll be over soon, I promise."

"You're the first friend I've ever had, y'know. I just thought I could rely on you, that's all," Chris said. "Now I don't know if anything you're telling me is the truth. Tell me to walk away, now, and I will, but be straight with me, please, just this once. Tell me what's going on so I can stop worrying, yeah? I got all these horrors in me 'ead, Jeremy. I don't like imagining them happening to you." 

Jeremy didn't reply immediately. Chris let the silence settle until he was ready to speak. Whether he told him the truth, Chris wasn't sure, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to know, either. The distance that had come between them had become painful; they'd spent so long telling each other everything - except for that one thing Chris couldn't bring himself to tell him, because he didn't want him to know that yet, if he ever told him at all. But it hadn't been a problem, had it? It wasn't like Jeremy knew he'd kept a secret from him. But this certainly was different, and it bothered him. He wasn't sure he could just walk away and forget him, particularly if it meant leaving him danger. It didn't seem fair.

"Look, we got involved in something, something bad, and it was kind of my fault. So I can't really walk away yet until it's sorted. I gotta go away soon, too, this week. We're taking a boat - we'll be back next week, yeah? Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself," Jeremy said.

Chris went to speak, but Jeremy stopped him with a kiss. Chris froze, but didn't fight it. It was the second time anyone had ever kissed him. As he sat back, Chris could see the seriousness etched into Jeremy's face. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Sorry, didn't want to go again without - I wouldn't dare, y'know? Can't be queer, not with them. Just wanted you to know I still care," Jeremy said, his voice soft and apologetic. 

Chris reached for his hand. "Do you really care? I just - I've been so unsure. I thought you didn't like me anymore."

Jeremy shot him a look. Chris understood the expression on his face. He had kissed him, after all. That wasn't a risk just anyone would take, not when they weren't entirely certain no one would find them. Of course he cared. As if to prove it, Jeremy kissed him again, just a bit longer. Chris let himself relax into it, and kissed back. He thought he could get used to that sort of touching, if it was with the right person. 

A car horn pierced the silence, and Jeremy pulled away. Chris watched him gathering his things, and knew their time together was over. Chris didn't want to let him leave, but he wasn't willing to fight him over it, not if things were as bad and as serious as Jeremy suggested they were. He wasn't about to ask what was in the large bag he was carrying, either, because he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He could think of many great and terrible things that might be in there, though, and that was more than enough. 

Jeremy offered one last kiss as he moved towards the entrance. "Alright, I gotta go. They're picking me up. Don't come out until we're gone. If they knew you were in here too, they'd kill you. So just - wait ten minutes, yeah? I'll send you another note when I'm back. I'll leave it here. So no one finds it. I'll see you soon, I promise." 

Chris nodded in acknowledgement, not daring to say anything else in case he was overheard. He crept back away from the entrance as Jeremy left. Huddling into the darkness, he waited, unsure if he would ever see him again. 

For once, that didn't preoccupy his thoughts. Jeremy's kisses were on his mind, then. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. It didn't feel that different to when Jenny had kissed him. And, well, Jeremy clearly thought he was a boy, because he wouldn't have been so worried about being seen as queer for kissing him if he'd thought he was a girl. That was itself both reassuring and terrifying. He wasn't sure he wanted to be queer on top of being transsexual. It would just give them another reason to hate and fear him. 

He wasn't sure about getting involved with Jeremy either. He did care about him as a friend, but he wasn't sure if that extended to love, and whether it was just his fear of intimacy that was making him hold back, or whether it was just something he wasn't interested in, no matter who it was. Because he'd have to tell Jeremy what he was if he wanted to be closer to him, if that's what Jeremy wanted. Maybe Jeremy was just as skittish about that sort of intimacy as he was. Maybe all they would ever do was kiss. 

Chris heard voices and footsteps then, walking towards him. He froze, and hoped they were going to the shed next to their secret hideout. He did his best not to panic, and keep his breathing steady. The urge to flee wasn't going away, but the fear of getting caught kept it in check as he heard someone trying to break the lock. A moment later, the door was wrenched open, and it sounded like something was being taken. He could hear soft voices, but they were too soft to hear what they were saying. Then they were gone, their footsteps retreating into the distance. Not wanting to risk being caught again, he stayed where he was for another hour until just before school began, making sure he wasn't late. He was troubled by what had happened for the rest of the day, and copped it for his lack of concentration, but he had bigger things to worry about that day than being punished for inattention. None of it mattered, and he went home, still lost in thought, with too many things to think about.

* * *

It was the longest week of his life, Chris thought, waiting to hear from Jeremy. He'd been absent all week from school, and he hadn't seen his brothers at all through the window at night. It troubled him. He wasn't sure what he should do if they weren't back when Jeremy said they'd be back, and he was gone for two weeks, three weeks, maybe, and people would start asking questions. He checked their secret hideout every day at school, waiting to see that note. When Friday came and went without word, he got worried, knowing he wouldn't be able to check again until Monday. Monday came and went, as did Tuesday, and Chris grew increasingly worried. 

Slipping into their spot on Wednesday, he finally found a note waiting for him, held down by a broken piece of brick. He almost didn't want to read it, because he wasn't sure he wanted to know, but his hesitation didn't last, and he grabbed the note, desperate to see Jeremy again, if it was allowed. 

_'hq shep 11mn,'_ it said, followed by three symbols Chris recognised. The first, a triangle with a cross through it, told him to prepare to stay overnight. The sack told him to bring food. The last symbol, an X shape with a horizontal wavy line through it, told him to tell no one. Chris wasn't exactly happy to see him returning to the code they'd come up with back when they'd first met, to avoid anyone knowing they were meeting. As they'd become closer, and Jeremy felt safer being friends with him without the dire need for secrecy, it had been used less and less. But now, clearly, things were still bad, particularly if he had to resort to that code. 

He'd tell Mary, of course, where he was going. Jeremy had never particularly minded that, because he trusted her. And Chris felt safer if at least one adult they trusted knew where they were, in case something happened. They'd always been fine in the past, but Chris felt things were different now, if Jeremy had got himself involved in bad things, things he couldn't tell him about. There might actually be some danger in staying overnight in the hideout they'd built in the park. It might also be a trap, Chris' paranoid mind suggested, and Jeremy was being used to lure him there. They knew he'd been there the morning last week that they'd picked him up, and now they were going to punish him for that. 

That thought stopped him in his tracks. Maybe he shouldn't go. Maybe he'd just be getting involved in something much bigger that he couldn't get out of. Maybe they needed to meet somewhere safer. He pulled out some paper and wrote a reply, short and sweet, returning to their code once more. Next to a capital D with a small X through the stem, he wrote the word 'chaste', which was a request to meet at his place after school the next day, and folded the paper. Leaving it under the brick where the other note had been, he went away to wait for a reply, and to see if Jeremy turned up at school. 

Jeremy didn't turn up, and there was no reply when he checked after school, just in case. There was no sign he'd been back, and Chris was worried. He walked home, unsure what he should do. Should he go to the park that evening anyway, just in case? Or should he wait to hear from him first? He still hadn't decided by the time he got home, and Mary noticed his worried mood.

"Something happen at school, pet?" she asked as he got back.

Her words startled him, and he looked at her, unsure. He fished out the note. "Jeremy left this for me this morning. He wants to meet tonight at the park, but I don't know if I want to go. I'm not sure it's safe."

Mary looked at the note. Chris had shared the code with her for this very reason, so she'd understand where they were going and what they were doing. "What makes you think it won't be safe?" 

Chris shrugged. "I just - I think it's a trap. For me. And I don't want to go." 

"Who'd want to trap you? I know you haven't seen him for a while, but I didn't think you'd become enemies," Mary said.

Chris shook his head. "It's not that. He's just - he's involved in something, he won't tell me what, and now he wants to meet, and I'm scared his brothers will be waiting for me, and I might not come back. But I can't work out if I'm just overthinking it, or if there's real danger there. What should I do?" 

Mary thought a moment. "Have you replied, then?" 

"I said to meet me here tomorrow, cos I thought it was too dangerous to meet tonight. I haven't heard anymore from him, though, so I dunno if he's going to agree," Chris said.

"Well, you know what I think already. I don't want you going out there at night, not if you think it might be dangerous. I won't stop you, of course, but maybe it's best to wait and see, rather than risk going out there alone," Mary said.

"Maybe, yeah. I mean, maybe it's going to be alright, but I don't trust it'll be safe. Maybe he'll be angry if I don't turn up, but I hope he understands. I saw him a couple of weeks ago, and he told me to keep away because it wasn't safe for us to meet. That's why I'm worried it won't be safe out there tonight," Chris said.

"Then perhaps it's better to stay here tonight. Do you want me to talk to anyone about this? Do you think he's in real danger?" Mary asked.

Chris shrugged. "I really don't know. He kept telling me he was fine, that he could take care of himself, but he's been like that all summer, and I'm worried. He won't tell me what's going on, so I don't know if he's actually in trouble, or just messing about. I don't know if his parents would even know or care, or whether they're part of it, y'know? I just can't trust anyone but him, and even now, I'm not sure I trust him. But I'm still worried."

"Alright, well, maybe it's best we stay out of this for now and see what happens. Wait til you hear from him again before doing anything, alright? There has been some strange things going on at that house lately, but I can't say it's connected or not. But if it's dangerous, you're better off staying away from all that. I'd rather have you safe and alive, and I'm sure you'd prefer that too," Mary said.

Chris nodded. "At least my cowardice is good for something. I just wish he'd talk to me, and let me know what's going on. I feel helpless, y'know? Watching him doing these things I'm sure he doesn't want to do, and not being able to see me. I hope I'm just overthinking things, and it's not as bad as it could be. I just want my friend back."

"Of course you do, pet, I know you liked him. We'll see what tomorrow brings, hey?" Mary said.

"Yeah, alright," Chris said. He knew it was what he really wanted to do, in his heart, but having her reinforce that as the best option helped him feel better about the decision, even if it would mean he wouldn't get to see Jeremy. Maybe there'd be a note waiting tomorrow, and he'd know then what to do.

* * *

Chris had trouble sleeping that night. He lay in bed, wide awake, wondering if he'd made the right decision. He'd packed a bag, in case he changed his mind, and it sat at the foot of his bed, waiting. He checked his watch every ten minutes or so, calculating in his mind how long it would take to get to the park. By the time it was 1 am, he was almost asleep, persuaded by the fact that he was still in bed, and hadn't gone to meet him. He did worry that maybe Jeremy would hate him for not showing, or think he'd stood him up because he didn't care, but the risk was just too high. He didn't know enough about what he'd been involved in to know for sure that he wasn't about to walk into a trap he wouldn't return from. 

Just as he was falling asleep, he heard something small hit his window. He ignored it, thinking it was probably just a tree branch or a bug or something, but as it kept happening, and he woke up a little more, he realised it sounded like a small stone being thrown against his window. Curious, but cautious, he got up, and as he peered through the corner of his curtains, he saw a figure in the street below looking up at him. It wasn't light enough for him to see just who it was, though. Still, he risked opening the window and whispered as loud as he dared.

"Who's there? What'd you want at this hour?" Chris said, hoping it wasn't anyone who wanted to hurt them.

"S'me, Jeremy! You didn't show, so I came round. Can I come in?" came the reply.

"'m not about to be kidnapped? Yer all alone, yeah? It's safe? Cos I didn't go because I was afraid it might be dangerous," Chris said, cautiously pleased to see him.

"S'alright, promise. It's all over now, so I can see you again. Can I come up? It's cold out here, man," Jeremy said.

Chris thought a moment, wondering how much he really trusted him. "Alright, I'll be down in a bit. Give us a sec." 

He heard Jeremy acknowledge it, and move towards the porch. As he was walking past Mary's room, not wanting to wake her, he hesitated. Maybe it'd be a good idea to let her know what was happening in case things went bad. Quietly, he went in, and crept over to her bed. It took him a moment to wake her, and she sat up.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"Jeremy's outside. Gonna go down and let him in. Just - I wanted to tell you in case it's still a trap. Don't come downstairs yet, just keep an ear out, yeah?" Chris said. 

"You sure you don't want me there with you?" she said.

"Yeah, just stay here and listen. Maybe it'll be alright, but, y'know. Just in case," Chris said. "I gotta go. But yeah. Alright?" 

Mary nodded. "You go talk to him. I'll be here if you need me." 

"Thanks, I- thanks, mum."

Mary sent him off with a smile. He was glad he had told her. He felt less nervous as he crept down the stairs to let him in. Nevertheless, he went into the kitchen to grab Mary's rolling pin, just in case he needed to defend himself. It still might be a trick, and he didn't want to go unarmed. He hesitated a moment once he got to the front door, knowing he could still back out, but it was Jeremy, and he did want to see him again. He tried to shut aside the paranoia in his mind, and let himself believe that Jeremy was still a good friend. As he opened the door, slowly, rolling pin raised ready to strike if necessary, he saw Jeremy's face smiling back at him. 

"Alright?" he asked. "Can I come in, then?"

"Yer alone? 'm not gonna get hurt?" Chris asked, needing to hear it from him to feel safe.

"I'm alone. Brothers are in Leicester. For good, I think? They met some girls, and told me to scram. I had to hitch my way back on my own, but I'm here. You're safe. We're both safe now," Jeremy said. 

Chris relaxed a little, trusting that it was safe, and opened the door to him, allowing him to enter. "Alright, come in. Keep it quiet, yeah?" 

"Thanks, it's bloody cold out there, man," Jeremy said as he slipped past him. 

Chris checked once more to make sure they hadn't been seen, and locked the door behind him. Before he could say anything else, Jeremy took his hand and kissed his cheek. 

"'ve missed you, Chris. Really missed you. Got so much to tell you, too, but you promise not to tell anyone, yeah? I could get into loads of trouble if you did," Jeremy said.

"Promise. I won't tell anyone. C'mon, come up stairs. You need to warm up, yeah? Your hands are cold," Chris said.

Jeremy grinned. "I did say it was cold out there." 

Stopping to leave the rolling pin back in the kitchen, Chris led him back upstairs as quietly as he could. He knew Mary was awake, but he didn't want Jeremy to know that, just in case. He closed his bedroom door once they were inside, and turned on his bedside lamp, hoping it didn't show through the curtains. 

"So, where've you been all summer? What've you been doing? What was so bad you had to avoid me and not tell me about it?" Chris asked. 

Jeremy stood before him, and Chris could tell he'd been living rough for a while. He was dirty, and his clothes were old, and ripped in places. He hadn't looked that bad when they'd met at school nearly two weeks ago, but maybe he hadn't noticed because it was quite dark in there, and he hadn't been paying attention to that. 

"I-I got into a fight with my brothers, y'know, about seeing you. They think you'll turn me queer or something. I don't know. I thought it was just another one of our arguments, but they'd gone and told my parents that we'd been caught kissing, and that I'd been skipping school, and I-I didn't know how to make them believe me, that I hadn't done those things, and they kicked me out. Told me never to come back or they'd hurt you too. My brothers, I mean. I've been staying with my aunt across town. She let me come back here, but warned me to keep a low profile, and avoid seeing you, just so there wasn't any more trouble. I - I didn't mean to lie to you, but I didn't know how to tell you, not while they might be watching, so I kept away. But they really have moved to Leicester. They met some girls in town and decided to shack up with them. So I decided to come back, since it's safer now. But I don't know if I can stay. I'm not sure if my parents will ever have me back, or whether I'd even be able to keep living here. I might need to go back to my aunt's house. But I didn't want to come back and not see you, so I could tell you what was going on. I felt you deserved to know," Jeremy said, speaking quickly and softly, needing to get the words out. 

"That true, then? That you got kicked out? I thought it wasn't so bad at your place. You got anywhere to stay then? Like, when you're here? You're not going to move away, are you?" Chris said, unsure how to take the news. 

Jeremy hesitated. "I'm not sure. I've been sleeping at school when I'm here, but it's alright, cos I never stay long. I don't want to move away, though, but I don't know how to stay here, either. Not on the same street. Makes me anxious, y'know? That's why I hid away, came at night. Don't want to be seen here in case they come after me, or you." 

"We'll move, then. I'll move to your aunt's street, then you won't need to move away," Chris said. "Y'can't just - only I think I might care about you too? And I don't want to lose that. You're the only friend I've got. What am I meant to do without you?" 

Jeremy bravely reached for his hand, and Chris held on, reassured by his presence. "I - like I said, I don't know. It might be safer if I wasn't here. They might make a fuss, or they might just leave me alone, and not want to talk about it. But I can't be sure. I never wanted this to happen, Chris. I don't know what to do any more than you do. I spent the summer trying to decide what to do, and I still don't know. How'd you deal with it? When you knew they didn't want you?" 

Chris shrugged, and moved to the bed, gesturing him over to join him. He felt like he hadn't really talked about that for a long time. He stared at the wall opposite them, and tried to find the right words. "I dunno, I came back from that place, and it was in the air, y'know, at home? Knew I was living on borrowed time, so I scarpered before they had a chance to kick me out. I was lucky I had Mary to run to, or I'd have been homeless, I reckon. Still can't really believe this happened, y'know? Got properly adopted and everything. No one can take me away now."

"D'you ever think about them, then?" Jeremy said.

"Sometimes. But I try not to, because it just hurts. They weren't kind to me. Dunno if that makes a difference, though," Chris said. "Like, I thought you said you got on alright? Like it wasn't as bad as mine? So what happened?" 

Jeremy shrugged this time, and stared at the floor. "I thought so, too. But maybe they'd been listening to my brothers for too long, and never letting me have a say. Maybe being queer was too much for them. I don't really know. I haven't heard from them since I left, though. They haven't called my aunt or anything, not that I know of. So maybe they'd just keep it to themselves, because they don't want anyone to know about me. Maybe I'm that much of an embarrassment to them that they'd rather think I didn't exist. Cos I think if they were going to make a fuss about it, they'd have done it by now, yeah? But I haven't seen them." 

"Maybe it's a blessing, then, y'know, get you into a better place. It worked for me," Chris said. 

"Maybe," Jeremy said, though he didn't sound particularly sure about it.

Neither spoke then, letting silence embrace them. Silence was where they were most comfortable, when they could just be, even if they did nothing else. Jeremy reached out to touch his hand as it lay on the bed. Chris glanced at his hand, and offered a smile of consent in return. He wasn't really sure that what he felt for Jeremy was romantic love, or even sexual love, something that went beyond friendship. He wasn't sure it was just a symptom of him being his first real friend, and he didn't want to let go of that. Maybe it was all of these things, or maybe it was just love, in spite of itself, for no other reason than it kept them both alive. Maybe that was enough. 

"I was so scared to kiss you. I-I didn't - I wasn't sure you'd accept it. That you'd hate me like my family does, for what I am." Jeremy turned to face him. "But maybe you'd understand better than anyone."

"'S'alright, it was weird, but in a good way? I dunno, I never really wanted anyone before. Always too weird about - the body, y'know? My mum - my birth mum - really fucked up my head."

"Well, yeah, if you'd been raised as something you're not, yeah. I know. I'm sorry. But I do like you. And maybe we won't ever - y'know. But I like you anyway," Jeremy said.

"Yeah, I think I like you too. Why don't you stay here tonight? It's late, and I don't want you sleeping out there again. You can just stay here if you want, and wait til tomorrow night if you want to leave then. Like, can we just spend some time together, just for a while, if you're going to go away again?" Chris said.

"Yeah, that'd be nice. I won't stay long, I'll - I have to see my aunt, and work out what to do. But I'll stay for a while, yeah. I'd like that," Jeremy said.

"Yeah, I'd like that, too." Chris held his hand, all the intimacy he could deal with at that moment. He felt Jeremy squeeze back, just gently, enough reassurance that he wanted it as well.

"So, er, d'you want me to sleep downstairs, then? I mean, if you need your space. I'll be no trouble, promise," Jeremy said.

"No, no, we can share. It's alright. I just don't want to be apart from you right now, in case you slip away into the night again," Chris said.

Jeremy blushed. "Alright, if you're sure. I know you're weird about - being close. Touching. Y'know. Didn't want to startle you or anything."

"Yeah, but you're weird about it too. I get it. It'll be alright," Chris said, feeling more confident about it than he sounded. 

Jeremy thought about it a moment, and then nodded. Chris understood, and didn't speak, letting the silence of the night hide them. They kissed one more time before they got into bed. It was just big enough for them, and they were, perhaps, closer than they'd liked, but in spite of their desire for separateness, they still held hands under the covers, a secret only the night needed to know.

* * *

_Moseley Grammar, Birmingham, April 1961_  
It was his last year at school, but Bev didn't care. He had hardly become a wilting flower while he'd been there. It didn't seem to be in his nature, and he revelled in being spectacularly bad at almost every subject he studied. He and Jasper spent every year seeing who could be last in their classes, mostly as a way to screw the system. It was, perhaps, not the sort of motivation their teachers would have approved of, but it made it bearable. Besides, he was going to be a famous drummer one day. Going to college to do A levels really wasn't a priority, nor did it seem very interesting. He was really only good at English and Art, and that was hardly going to get him anywhere. 

Bev wasn't really sure how it had happened, nor did he mind the attention. His mother did worry from time to time that he was pushing his luck and that one day, one of the boys would find out and out him before the whole school. Bev did think about that possibility too, but he attacked it by refusing to give them the ammunition they'd need to take him down. Besides, being a rebellious bastard was quite a popular stance amongst the boys, and anyone who stuck it to The Man and flouted the school's strict rules usually found themselves congratulated rather than excluded.

He had taken a rather lax attitude to attendance, bunking off in the afternoon perhaps more than necessary. It was hardly his fault there were far more interesting things he'd rather be doing. He was far more interested in being in a band anyway. Rock music was far more fun than school. Going on to college and university, unlike most of the boys in his class, just wasn't that important. You didn't need a degree to be in a band. 

He was nearly finished with school anyway. In a couple of months, he could leave and never come back. Unable to care enough about his classes, he decided he couldn't be bothered going in his uniform that morning. Fuck the school's strict uniform code. It hadn't been planned for that particular day, but Bev had woken that morning and decided he'd had enough of his school uniform for a lifetime. None of the students cared, though none of them seemed to care enough to deliberately disobey them like he was about to do. 

He'd tell his friends later that afternoon that he'd spent ages preparing, but that was a bit of a lie. He already had most of what he needed, and it was surprisingly easy to convince his mother to fix his blazer so it looked right. His mother sometimes worried he was courting trouble by bringing so much attention to himself, but Bev had learnt how to get by. Sure, he did get pushed around a bit in his first year, but he'd learnt to push back, and they soon left him alone. Anyway, being in a band was cool. No one was willing to disrespect him for that. 

Bev had flouted the uniform code a few times before, but he'd done it more subtly and not so outrageously, if only out of laziness and because, well, some of the other boys did it too. He just didn't think he had anything to lose now, so the only parts of his uniform he was actually wearing was his blazer and his school cap. He'd dressed up like a true rock'n'roller, because he'd rather wear that uniform than his school one. He thought his shirt with tiger print around the collar was particularly cool. He wanted to leave Moseley Grammar in style. 

To his credit, he had arrived on time, but he was more interested in making a show of it so he'd waited until he was fashionably late before lazily strolling in through the Prefects gate, nonchalantly wheeling his bike as he went. He was surprised he got as far as he did before a teacher stopped him. Bev delighted in the anger on his face as he told him not to come back until he was dressed properly. Bev was more than happy to oblige. He waved to the cheering boys who'd gathered around to watch as he left, pleased to have the day off school. And perhaps the next day too, depending on when he felt like putting his uniform on properly.

* * *

_North Birmingham, September 1961_  
Chris was constantly surprised at how quickly things could change in a year. While the intimacy he shared with Jeremy was fleeting and barely more than a touch, it was the time they spent together that bonded them more than anything. Jeremy hadn't expected he'd be allowed to live with Chris, either, but he didn't want to change schools, and that, more than anything, swayed the argument in his favour, and he moved in soon after with what little he possessed.

They had separate rooms. They both needed their space, and the silence, in order to function. Chris hadn't expected it would be a big problem to have another person living with them, particularly since it was Jeremy, but he was rattled for the first week, and hardly slept, until his mind settled down and got used to it. That Jeremy was more than willing to give him space helped, so he didn't feel as crowded as he might otherwise have done. 

It also gave them more chances to practice with the band, because Jeremy wasn't hindered by his family any longer. They met every afternoon after school, and at least once over the weekend, and it began to work. By December, they were playing once a month at a local youth club, and by March, that had become every other Sunday. It had proved to be a steep learning curve for Chris. Being in public so much, and having to deal with people more often than he was used to had taken its toll, but both Jenny and Jeremy helped him cope with that. It wasn't easy, but the more he did it, the better he dealt with it. In the end, it was just too much fun to feel scared of the crowd.

He was binding all the time, particularly when he was playing, and Mary was a great help in fixing and making clothes he could wear on stage that didn't show off his female body. It had taken him a while to get used to being on stage, and knowing he couldn't just hide behind a drum kit like Jenny could. Exposing himself to the audience's gaze was getting easier to bear, but it still troubled him from time to time. He was never sure he passed well enough, even in the dim light of the club. 

Jenny had become a lifeline. He could talk to her about his body, and how it troubled him, without fearing she wouldn't understand. She'd helped him find ways of coping with menstruation, and showed him good ways to bind his breasts so that they didn't aggravate him so much. She'd also helped him find a good way of filling out his trousers, just so he didn't look quite so feminine down there. It didn't help him feel more like a boy, but even a small bulge down there was better than nothing, and he was at least happy he didn't look quite so much like a girl. As long as he was passing, and he was young enough that he could still get away with his smooth skin and lack of facial hair, he was happy. 

The public attention he gained from playing in the band forced him to get better at playing, because the cost of mistakes had grown higher. It had earned him the nickname, 'Ace', if only because playing gigs had proved to him that he had more talent than the rest of the band. He did sometimes feel bad about that, but it was good to have that validation, because it made him believe he could really go somewhere with his music, if he stuck at it. He'd never been good at anything in his life before, but this was something he could make a living from, if he worked hard at it. That prospect wasn't something he was about to give up lightly, not if it might lead to something better. He might not be on the cusp of becoming a millionaire yet, but it was a start.

It took all of Mary's persistence to get him and Jeremy to focus on their school work. She didn't want them dropping out just because they had the band now. She had actually stopped them going to a few gigs if they weren't caught up on their school work, and the fact that she followed through with her threat made them behave. He still wasn't very interested in school, nor were his marks very good, but at least he was passing consistently, which he felt was better than nothing. Even Jeremy had pulled his grades up, and was almost top of their class, which spurred Chris on, just a little, in order to keep up with him. 

Things were beginning to change, though. The summer had led to them playing every other night, at three different clubs, and with it had come a deeper connection with the broader local music scene, and the older bands who could play every night since leaving school. Chris knew the only way to make it would be to connect up with them, and join a professional band. He knew he was outgrowing the band the longer they played together, and he was practically stealing the lead now. But it wasn't as exciting as he'd felt it would be. It wasn't much of a challenge anymore. Playing the same songs, night after night, was simple, and if the band had a bigger range, maybe he wouldn't have felt so stifled. He wanted to play other songs, songs he felt were a little beyond them at their current level. It wasn't that Sam, Jenny, and Jeremy weren't good players; they were, or the band wouldn't have gone as far as they had. But they didn't have quite the same soaring ambition that Chris was nurturing. He wanted to play his own songs, not play the same covers every night, but there was no call for it. They weren't being hired for originality. 

Luck, and persistence had paid off. He'd been hanging around Alex's Pie Stand, hoping to at least begin scout out the older musicians who might want to take him on, once he'd discovered that was where all the professional bands went after their gigs. That night, he hadn't felt particularly confident. He'd talked to a few friends, but there wasn't much work going around. Just as he was about to leave, someone called his name, and he turned to see an acquaintance of his approaching.

"Oh, hey Charlie, how's things? I didn't think I'd see you here tonight," Chris said, seeing him walk up to him with a couple of his bandmates behind him.

"Yeah, it was a late one, but I wanted to see you anyway. We're looking for a bassist. You interested?" Carl said.

"You know I am. I don't know if I'm good enough for you, though," Chris said.

Carl brushed off his concerns. "I've seen you play. You're good enough, alright. You're light years ahead of the band you're playing with. Plus, you've been hanging around here for the past three months, asking anyone and everyone for a gig. I think you're good enough to step up. It'll be hard work, of course, but I think you can do it. What'd you say?" 

"I'd love to, yeah. I can't make it playing pissy gigs forever. I need a bigger challenge. If you think I'm up for it, well, alright. Let's give it a go," Chris said, needing little time to think about it.

Carl smiled and clapped him across the shoulders. Chris managed to avoid flinching, but he was sure a little discomfort showed on his face at the sudden intrusion. He still wasn't very good with strangers touching him. 

"Good man. I'll train you up good and proper. You'll be a pro in no time. Now, it's bloody late. You right to get home, then?" Carl said.

"Oh, yeah, it's - I'm alright. I always walk home. It's not a problem. I like walking at night," Chris said.

"Come with me tonight, then. You can meet the boys properly," Carl said. "You are now part of the band, so you can ride in the van."

Chris almost wanted to decline, and walk home, alone, in peace, but he did like Carl, and he'd talked with the rest of the band more than once. They were good lads. He trusted Carl, at the very least, and it would be nice to get to know them all a little better, now that he had a proper gig to go to.

"Alright, sure, since you asked so nicely," Chris said.

"Atta boy. C'mon, then," Carl said, and led him off to the van.

Chris felt he took the ride home quite well, given he was in a crowded van with people he didn't know very well, along with all their gear. Still, they didn't pressure him, and he was able to sit in the front next to Carl, which made him feel less afraid. Carl talked to him the whole way home, and by the time they did arrive at Mary's, Chris didn't want to go. But he had been out very late, and he wanted to tell Jeremy the news before he fell asleep. Saying goodnight, Carl told him when to come to rehearsals, and let him go. Chris watched them drive off into the night with a huge grin on his face.

Sneaking back inside, he crept up to Jeremy's room. The door was open a crack, and he could see the lamp on. He knocked quietly, and pushed the door open a little. 

"Jeremy, you awake?" Chris whispered.

"Oh, hey, you're back, I was waiting for you. Have a good night, then?" Jeremy said, gesturing him in.

Chris remembered to close the door behind him as he entered and joined him on the bed. Jeremy sat up, and left his book aside. 

"Oh, it was brilliant. I know you don't like coming to Alex's with me, but that's where the bands are. That's my ticket out of this life. And tonight, I was given one. I got asked to join Carl's band. He thinks I'm good enough to turn pro," Chris said.

"You said yes, then? I mean, you wouldn't look that happy if you'd said no. So does that mean you're leaving our band, then?" Jeremy said.

The excitement in his face lessened, just a little, thinking about the band. "Well, I'll have to, won't I? But we can still be mates. But this is a chance, Jeremy. This is a way out. Maybe you don't want to make it big like I do, but this is all I've got. I'm not smart like you. I'm never going to get to university. Music is all I'm good at. I need to take this chance, Jeremy. I really need this. Are you at least happy for me?" 

Jeremy smiled. "Of course. Even I know you're too good for the band. You might not have the music theory that I have, but you have more raw talent, and maybe that's more important now. Go for it, yeah? Go and be brilliant. I'll be cheering you on from the sidelines. Front row, every gig, yeah? Promise."

"You better be. I'll be able to see if you're not there," Chris teased. "Thanks, yeah? I would've turned them down if you weren't happy with it. I don't want this to get in the way of our friendship. That's always going to be more important than the music. Promise."

"You don't mean it, but thanks for saying it anyway. Just keep in touch when you're living in a mansion in California, yeah?" Jeremy said.

"You'll be the first to know once I buy one of those places. I hope you get what you want, too. You go on to do amazing things, things I'll never get a chance to do," Chris said.

Jeremy leaned in to kiss him then. Chris wanted to believe their friendship could last, but he wasn't certain about it. He'd be seeing less of him, and even he knew that they'd become less dependent on each other as the year went on. They didn't need each other just to survive anymore, and that made all the difference. That had been why Chris had joined Carl's band, after all, since he knew it was time to move on. It had become obvious over the past few months that he was too good for them, and parting ways was for the best. Yes, one part of his life was coming to an end, but another was just about to begin, and he didn't sleep that night, kept awake imagining all the amazing adventures that awaited him.


	4. Growing Pains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I am awful at finishing chapters because I got stuck researching Solstice rituals at Stonehenge because I decided to flesh out a character a bit more. Sometimes, I forget I'm not writing nonfiction and hey, this is an Alt Universe, so I can just Make Shit Up. :D?
> 
> Also, this chapter was meant to cover '62-'64, but at 28k words, yeah, it needed to be split up. At some point, this will be finished, though how many chapters that takes, only the cosmos knows. A lot of it depends on how close to canon I'm going to end up following, since I'm not even up to The Move era yet woo. /so many thousands of words to go.

 

_Birmingham, January 1962_  
For a job straight out of school, selling carpets wasn't such a bad job. Given he'd broken both wrists over the past eighteen months, he was glad he was in a band at all, even an amateur one. His right wrist was still a little weak, but it had healed up better than his left wrist, and he was as close to being back at his best he felt he was going to get. Without school to deal with, he could play all the gigs he liked. And it wasn't that being in a band wasn't paying the bills either, but they were hardly breaking even yet, nor were they able to turn professional just yet, and Bev needed every penny to pay for his shots. He'd come to an agreement with his mother that once he left school, he had to pay for his own hormone injections. She'd still support him, and she had shelled out for his shots a couple of times when he was short, but it was his responsibility now. Bev didn't mind, and it seemed like a fair enough deal. Besides, his best mate Jasper had a job in another department in the same store, allowing them to have more than a little fun when they got together. Like that foolproof Christmas scam they pulled to earn a bit more cash because Santa was too drunk to notice what they were doing. It made life bearable while he waited to turn pro.

Bev was quite pleased no one had pegged him as a girl. He wasn't surprised; it's not like he really looked like one either, tall and muscular as he was. Still, there was always that fear in the back of his mind that someone would work it out, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He hadn't changed his name or moved away from all the people who used to know him as a girl. He was always afraid someone would not just remember, but make public, the fact that he'd been born a girl. At least he had Jasper to talk to, when he needed him, because having even one person who knew and would keep it secret was better than keeping it all to himself.

Girls were another issue altogether. It wasn't that Bev didn't like them, nor could he particularly ignore them, as being in a band tended to attract girls no matter how famous they were. Bev had never minded, and had even had a few in his time, though they'd never been particularly serious. He'd come up with a cover story for why he didn't have a cock, but as he had one he could strap on that did the job, and there was no risk of pregnancy, well. He had not found a girl yet who had found it insufficient, and they were happy to remain on good terms with him when it was over if there was still a chance they could hook up again later. Bev couldn't feeling quite proud of this achievement.

And it wasn't even that he didn't want to be outed either. Well. Of course, he didn't want to be outed, but he was confident enough in his own life and identity that it never felt like he had some sort of deep dark secret. It was just something he kept to himself. Sure, some people who knew him as a kid would sometimes look at him strangely, and ask, confused, about whether he had a sister, because they only remembered him as a girl, but as he'd never been much of a girl anyway, it was easy enough to fool them into thinking they'd been mistaken. It was the one thing that stopped him worrying he might somehow need to flee and change his name. The people who did remember him as a kid weren't as certain as he'd expected about his gender, and he was able to get away with his deception. Not that it was much of a deception, but he didn't see fit to correct them, and he was fine with them thinking he'd always been a boy, because knowing the truth was much worse.

* * *

_Castle Bromwich, Birmingham, April 1962_  
They'd arrived back after another gig and fell into bed together, exhausted but happy. While still keeping his body hidden, Ace was nonetheless enjoying himself immensely. Carl had proved to be a fine friend, and they had bonded over Carl's terrible bass playing. Ace had told him if he was going to pick up his instrument, he should at least know how to play it properly and sat him down to teach him.

Ace still didn't quite know why he trusted Carl so much, but Carl had proved to be protective and loyal, keeping him out of trouble. Carl cared about him, and Ace couldn't help responding to that care. Carl seemed to know what was best for him, and if Carl told him not to drink too much because it'd wreck his head, Ace, for some unfathomable reason, did as he was told. That he didn't particularly like what alcohol did to his head also helped. He'd almost come out to the whole band one night when he was drunk, and that fear kept him relatively sober to ensure it didn't happen again.

Besides, he was still at school, and Carl didn't want to get him in trouble, which was half the reason he sometimes had him stay over, rather than go home after a gig, because it was closer, and he didn't want him staying up so late. It was strange to be driven to school by him the next day, if it was a weekday, and he hadn't been able to sleep in till noon, but there were worse things to suffer, and at least it meant he could go home to Mary afterwards, and tell her how good the gig had been, and what they'd done. Then collapse into bed as soon as he could to catch up on the sleep he'd missed the night before.

The scent of cigarette smoke drifted over to him, and Ace watched him light up, and inhale that first drag, as if it was the first breath of air he'd been able to inhale all day. With a languid movement, he offered it to Ace, and Ace took his own first breath, appreciating the sense of calm it brought with it. They often shared a fag after a gig like this, appreciating the silence of the night after the noise of the club. It helped them both relax.

Carl had his arm around him then, bringing him close. Ace had taken a long time to accept Carl's affection, but at least he wasn't as anxious about being touched as he had been a few years ago. He was able to allow Carl to hug him, and lie beside him, and it was alright. Ace wasn't sure how long they'd been sharing a bed, but it was nice to be close to him. It wasn't even that they were lovers either, nor would it matter if they were. Ace just appreciated his companionship, pleased that he had got to the point where he could accept intimacy and kindness when it was offered, and accept it for what it was, rather than run from it.

And then, without saying anything, Carl cupped his cheek and brought him into a kiss, soft, unhurried, and gentle. Ace didn't pull away, but he was surprised. He hadn't been kissed for nearly two years, not since Jenny had kissed him that afternoon when he'd told her his secret. He had liked Jenny, but he'd never gone any further with her, mostly because the prospect of intimacy with someone who had a female body wasn't something he was ready to deal with. He was content to be friends, and Jenny was happy to accept that.

He'd been alright with that, but affection from a man, that was something new. He wasn't sure if he wanted it, or if he should want it. Intimacy with other boys had always been a little fraught for him, because sometimes it triggered bad memories. He'd never had any affection from a man in his life, except for his father. The rest had beaten him and tried to make him conform and be a girl. To have Carl, then, wanting to be that intimate with him was scary. He became aware of just how close they were then, pressed together as they lay on the bed. Carl was strong, too, bigger than he was. His arms held him gently, just asking, but Ace could feel the potential force in them, and what they might do to him if he got in trouble. The threat of intimacy and bad memories reared its ugly head as Carl stroked his arm gently and kissed him again, and Ace pulled away, feeling smothered.

Carl sat up, a concerned look on his face. "Hey, it's alright, I'm not trying to hurt you."

"I-I can't. I mean, I like you, I do, but I just..." Ace couldn't quite finish the sentence. "Don't touch me, please."

Carl raised his arms in surrender. "Hey, it's alright, I'll back off. What's the problem? Not that queer, then?"

Ace squirmed. "It's not that, I just ... there are things you don't know about me, and I don't know if I'm ready to tell you yet."

"Look, if you're straight, that's fine with me. I can accept I misread things between us. You're still welcome to the spare room, you know, as long as you like," Carl said.

"It's not that. I just - I have other problems. It's hard to talk about. You'd keep quiet if I told you, wouldn't you?" Ace said, unsure if he really could trust him.

"It's not like no one knows about me and my queerness. I'm hardly going to tell the punters about that. I can keep secrets when I need to. Whatever it is, it'll never leave this room," Carl said, and Ace believed him.

Ace sat up, wondering where to begin. He tried to find the right words, but there didn't seem to be any words at all that seemed to be able to articulate what he wanted to say. It seemed easier telling Jenny. He'd never been able to tell another boy, because the fear of reprisals was too great. They were all stronger than him, and he'd been hurt too many times. Carl, too, could easily overpower him if he didn't like his secret. Even then, imagining what Carl might do if he didn't accept him made him shiver. He could feel the force of the punches and flinched, turning away from him.

But Carl had become a good friend, and he had been nothing but gentle and caring to him. He was better to him than his own brother had been. He'd been as honest as he could with Carl, too, because Carl tended to make him feel at ease, as if he could trust him. Perhaps he ought to try, anyway, and not just keep lying. He was never very good at keeping track of lies. As he sat there in silence, deep in thought, it occurred to him that it might be better to show him rather than try and find the right words. It'd save him from being misunderstood, and he didn't want to be misunderstood, not with something this important.

It was still a terrifying thing to consider doing, to be so utterly naked and vulnerable, to literally bear his naked body to him. He could be putting himself in real danger if he dared, and Carl didn't like it. All sorts of horrors emerged into his mind, all the things his mind could conceive of that might happen to him if Carl didn't like it, and there he was, lying naked on his bed, and he knew the world would tell him he deserved it, assuming he survived.

Jenny had never seen his body, but he'd been too scared back then. It had been too hard to look at his body when he was alone, let alone show someone else. But maybe it would be alright. He felt a little better about it now. At least, he was willing to keep on living, since he was getting closer to being able to get treatment. Every year he lived, and the more confident he got, the more determined he was to keep on going, and make it to twenty one, so he could finally get the body he wanted. The dark thoughts might go away then, and he could finally feel at peace. He had things to live for now, and he wasn't inclined to give them up, not yet. It might just be worth the risk.

Ace spoke tentatively. "Jus' - I ain't never really showed this to anyone before, and I don't really know how to explain it either. Jus'-"

Ace stopped, unsure how to continue, or whether he really wanted to, either. Carl offered a gentle, encouraging, smile, and shifted away from him a little, giving him space.

"You don't need to tell me if you don't want to. I won't force you or anything. I know it's dangerous for people like us," Carl said.

Ace shook his head. "No, I want to, I think? It's just ... I wish I didn't have to show you, but I can't find the words, so it'll have to be this. Jus' - please keep back. Don't touch me. I need - space to do this on my own."

Carl purposefully moved away from him, making a clear space between them. "Sure, whatever you need."

Ace spent another moment deciding whether he could still back out. Carl might not mind if he didn't, but maybe he'd just have to do it later, if there ever was a later. Maybe getting it done with now might be better. Deciding he'd come too far to back out now, given everything he'd already said, he began undressing. It wasn't till Carl saw the bandages wrapped around his chest that he began to understand what he was trying to tell him. Ace sat there naked, his female body exposed to him. Without the clothes and bandages to hide everything, his sex was abundantly clear, from the small but obviously female breasts to the fuller figure. He covered his face in shame, not wanting to look at his body or show him the tears pooling in his eyes.

"Well, that explains a lot," Carl said.

"Don't kick me out. Please. This is all I've ever wanted to do. This keeps me from going daft. These past six months with the band have been the best I've ever had in my life and I don't want to give them up. Don't take away the one thing keeping me alive," Ace pleaded.

Carl smiled at him, gently touched his shoulder reassuringly. Ace flinched at the sensation, and Carl pulled away, not wanting to scare him.

"I'm not going to kick you out. It's alright. You're good for the band, and I'm happy to keep you if it means that much to you," Carl said.

Ace risked a glance. "Are you sure? I-I mean, I wouldn't want to - if the others, if they don't-"

"Don't worry about the others. They won't find out, I promise. You can stay," Carl said.

Ace looked at him, but saw no sign of deception. He let himself relax a little. "Alright, I'm sorry, I'm jus'- I've been hurt before, and rejected loads of times, and I didn't want - but you've been so nice to me, y'know, and I love playing with you guys. I didn't want to lose that too."

"It's alright. You'll be alright. You're not going to get kicked out for this. So you're a girl then? Have I been calling you a boy by mistake?" Carl said.

Ace shook his head. "No, I'm not a girl. I'm a boy. I hate my body so much. Like, I was born wrong. I was supposed to be a boy, I know I was, but I got this body instead and no one ever let me be a boy, not even me mum, my birth mum, but then I found Mary, and she adopted me, and I was allowed to be a boy, then. I was finally able to escape that house. But that's why I pulled away. I hate my body and I don't want anyone touching it. I just need to keep going until I'm old enough to get help, then I'll be happy. Until then, I'm stuck with this horrible body that bleeds every month. It's disgusting and I hate it. I don't know why I'm even telling you this either. I've never told another boy before. Never felt I could trust them enough. Too scared of another lampin', or, y'know. Bad things happening. You know how girls are treated round here, y'know, by the bands. Seen enough to know that's not safe for me if they ever found out. Don't know why I trust you, either, but I do. But no one's allowed to know. Too dangerous. Bad things will happen, I know they will. Gotta keep it secret, even if it hurts, even if it means I'm alone. This is all I'm good at. I don't want this job to kill me. I got nothing left if I don't have this," Ace said, a hand angrily clawing at one of his breasts.

Carl brought him close, holding him gently. Ace fought him for a moment, but Carl didn't seem angry. Maybe it would be alright. He allowed himself to relax, just a little, and enjoy the sensation of someone caring about him. Carl just held him, his arms around his torso, not doing anything but being there beside him. Ace almost wanted to dress, to stop being in such a vulnerable position, but Carl didn't seem to be of any threat to him then, and his hands didn't wander. A thumb gently brushed against his shoulder, but that was it. There was no force, no sense that he couldn't escape. It was profoundly strange.

"Ace. Look at me. I don't care. I'm queer. It's not like I don't have my own secrets either. You say you're really a boy? I believe you. If you don't want to get together, that's alright too. You're not ready for that yet anyway, I can tell. Besides, if I kick you out, I'd have to look for another bassist, and quite frankly, you're too popular to get rid of."

Ace smiled a little at that. It was nice to be appreciated, and he did like being popular. Girls clamouring after him was flattering, even though it was scary. His libido was not very great, if it existed at all, and the prospect of being with someone else, letting them be intimate with him, was terrifying. He'd heard all the stories, of course, from other boys and the girls they'd been with. He'd even met some of the girls who'd hang around after gigs, offering themselves to the band. Ace had never done anything other than offer a kiss, unwilling to put himself at the mercy of obsessive teenage girls who wanted sex and nothing more, and who could never stop touching his hair. His personal space was constantly being challenged and invaded at gigs, and he was sure if he hadn't had Carl with him, he wouldn't have coped at all.

It had also made him question his sexuality. While he did quite like girls, more than a few boys had also caught his eye, but his fear of intimacy had made him question whether he'd even want to get with anyone if given the choice. He also wondered if he'd just managed to talk himself into liking girls just because it was expected of him, particularly now that he was in a proper band. If he was a boy, he should like girls. That was how it worked, wasn't it? He'd never been with anyone before anyway, so it was a purely intellectual question as far as he was concerned. Maybe one day he'd feel brave enough to experiment. Maybe one day, he'd know for sure.

"I wish I knew how to help you. But listen to me, alright? I don't care what your body looks like. You're an amazing bassist and I want you in my band," Carl said.

"'m not that good, not really, but thanks for giving me a chance. No one ever did that to me before. I feel so daft most of the time. I wish I was done with school so I could just play, and forget about all that stuff, but I've still got a year to go. Mary won't let me drop out," Ace murmured.

"You're lucky you have her. School's not that bad, anyway. Then again, I did go to a grammar school. You aren't missing much, except the entitlement, and the Latin classes," Carl said.

"Poncy git," Ace teased.

"Save it for when you meet a proper posh boy. It's not that great, really. I only ever went for the music and drama classes. I never cared for the rest," Carl said.

"Yeah, I had to learn all that music stuff from Sam, when I joined my old band. I still feel like I'm always going to be catching up, though. I mean. It seems weird, banking everything on the band, but what else can I do? It's all I'm good at. It's the only thing I've ever been good at. What else can I do? You'll look after me, won't you? I haven't got anyone else, 'cept for Mary. People keep rejecting me. It's not fair. What'd I ever do to end up like this?"

"Don't worry about it. There'll always be a bed for you here if you need it. No questions, no explanations, no expectations. If you ever need it, it's here, for as long as you need. Just remember to take care of yourself, hey? Lay off the drinking, and anything else you might be tempted to take. I'm no shrink, but you've got a fragile mind. You don't need that shit. You've got enough to deal with without adding that to it, yeah? I saw it destroy my dad when he got back from the war. But that's why he left, and I don't miss him. I don't want you turning into him," Carl said.

Ace nodded in agreement. "I know, I need help, but it's so hard to find. We've looked, y'know? All over the country. But most of them say no, and those few who would treat me, want me to wait until I'm twenty one. I don't even know if Mary's got enough money to help me. What if it's too expensive? What if we can't afford it? How am I meant to survive if I can't get help?"

Carl pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You just concentrate on not going daft and I'll make sure you've got a band to play in, a bed to sleep in, and some money in your pockets. We'll be famous one day, just you wait, and then you'll be able to buy all the help you need."

"I hope so, because I don't know how much longer I can last," Ace said.

* * *

_Hall Green, Birmingham, May, 1962_  
Her name was Janine, as far as Bev could remember. She wasn't the first he'd taken out, and probably wouldn't be the last either. Being in a band was a great way of scoring dates with pretty girls, and there were plenty of them. Janine had caught his eye a few weeks back at one of their gigs, and had actually asked him out first before he could make the first move. Impressed by her boldness, he said yes, because she didn't seem like any of the other girls he'd ever been interested in. Just like the girls he used to watch on screen when he was younger, he had her in his arms now, and they found a spare spot in the back row together, paying little attention to the film that was showing.

They were towards the middle. Bev liked being punctual for this reason, otherwise they'd have other couples walking past them all the time. But he wasn't paying any attention to them, and they weren't paying any attention to him. That was just how things were, and he wasn't inclined to change it.

She had lovely dark hair that fell seductively past her shoulders, and her eyes were stunning. Bev was well aware of this as it was pretty much all he could see. They'd shifted as close together as they could, and Bev wasted no time in kissing her. She wasn't as sweet as she looked, and Bev didn't mind at all. Sure, there was only so much they could get away with in the cinema, but that never stopped anyone testing those boundaries.

She was actually pretty tall too, but that just meant he didn't have to bend so much. She stifled a laugh as Bev whispered to her, adding his own spectacular commentary on the film they hadn't really been paying attention to. She had shifted to his lap by then, and Bev had more to explore, able to touch almost all of her body as they sat there together in the dark. She was good company, as well as keen to play around, which Bev felt was a distinct improvement on many other girls he'd dated.

They didn't stay for the second show. She'd suggested they head back to his place, and Bev couldn't think of anything else to say except yes. She was definitely keeping him on his toes, and he found he loved her all the more because of it. Leaving the dark cinema, Bev took them both home.

* * *

_Sparkhill, Birmingham_  
With only a cursory greeting to his mother, Bev took Janine upstairs. They kissed again before Bev shut the door behind them. Bev was freer to explore, and he'd explained his situation on the way, so she knew he was a little insufficient downstairs. She just thought it would be a nice challenge. Bev was glad; he had a good track record of picking girls who didn't mind. In some ways, it felt a bit strange, but Bev was hardly going to complain about it now. His mother did, from time to time, when he was a little too cavalier in bringing girls home, but as long as he was quiet and careful, he usually got away with it.

They kissed against the door, and she wrapped a leg around his body, bringing him close. He was more interested in kissing a trail down her chest, finally able to get under her clothes. He undressed her slowly, taking in every inch of her skin. She was the one who asked him to move between her legs, and he needed little encouragement. He liked showing off his skills to girls, and it always made things go better. He'd never quite had a girl who knew what she wanted as much as Janine did, but at least there wasn't as much guesswork involved.

She tangled her fingers in his hair as he sucked on her clit, swirling his tongue around the small bud. She was already wet, and Bev stroked her with his fingers, thrusting gently. She didn't take long to come, and she pulled on his hair as she leant against the door. Bev lingered a little longer, tasting her with his tongue. She squirmed at the sensation, and her body tensed. Bev stood then, and kissed her, a hand still teasing her.

"Shall we?" Bev murmured against her neck.

"You'd better," she murmured back.

They shifted to the bed, and Bev finished undressing, taking a moment to tie his cock on. It wasn't perfect, but he'd had no complaints so far. He must be doing something right. He would never let on where he'd got it from, but knowing lads who were old enough to get hold of such things, and willing to do so for him, was a big help. He'd never disclosed what, exactly, he needed it for, but it wasn't the sort of thing you asked questions about, anyway. It had made his relationships with girls go much better once he had a way to fuck them properly, the way a boy ought to, without the risk of unexpected children turning up nine months later.

He smiled as he got into position. She lay back, and he spent a moment preparing before pushing inside her. Sure, it wasn't a real cock, but the extra lubrication was useful. He always started slow, just so they could find their own rhythm. She didn't want him to rush, so he kept it slow, kissing her in between thrusts. They switched positions, with Bev sat up against the bedhead as she lowered herself down onto him. She was free to move as she liked, and the sensations against his own clit seemed more intense from that angle. He held her body gently, taking it all in, and she took whatever she wanted from him, knowing he wasn't going to go soft on her. Bev had found girls did quite like that about his cock.

She offered to fuck him, as it turned out. Bev had always tried to find girls who might be interested in that, but it was always awkward to bring up, and he usually cared more about keeping them sweet so they wouldn't disclose what his body was really like. But Janine was clearly different, and Bev was hardly going to say no. After all, it wasn't every day she found a boy with a penis she could wear herself. He helped her strap it on, and prepare things, making sure he was lubed up properly. He had really only played around with a cock himself, and while he knew he could take it, it would be different when it was someone else fucking him.

She took to it with gusto, and enthusiasm. Lying on his back, Bev spread his legs for her, and she took command of him, moving into position so she could fuck him. It felt better than he could've predicted as she slowly slid inside him. Her hands grasped his legs, and Bev thought she had no right to look quite so fucking attractive as she thrust inside him. Able to enjoy the sensations as much as she had, it proved to be a highly pleasurable way to end the night, and Bev was sure he'd never been with any girl like her before in his life. He was interested in seeing her again, if she was keen. Bev thought she looked really pretty as they lay together afterwards. Her hair was a little untidy, but it fell over one eye and she smiled happily, a hand lazily drawing circles on his chest.

"Y'know, I wasn't sure I'd like you. I thought you would be like all those other pretty boys in bands, who just care about a fuck, and don't even care about us. Seen too many girls get their hearts broken. But you're not like them, are you? Got a kinder heart, you have, pet," she drawled, sounding as if she might fall asleep.

Bev took a moment to take in her words. There was a slight Geordie twang to her voice then that he hadn't picked up on before, but he did like it. "Well, there's no point in alienating girls when I look like I do, is there? Nah, it's not worth the pain. I won't lie, the dates are nice, but I'm always looking for something more. Maybe it's you."

She smiled, and shifted beside him, snuggling closer. "Maybe. I do like a boy who doesn't mind being fucked. Do you know how hard it is to find a boy like you? I better not let go of you, had I, or someone else might snap you up instead."

"You try being the boy who finds it so hard to ask a girl to fuck him back," Bev countered.

"I wouldn't worry about that. You have the best cock, anyway," she said.

"That's very true. I've never been with a girl who hasn't enjoyed it yet. It's very popular," Bev said, pretending to preen in his mind, though he was hardly going to brag about it out in public where others might hear it and take issue with it. He had more sense than that.

She laughed. "Yes, I was warned about that. Your reputation precedes you, sir, and I'm glad I took a chance on you."

Bev took it in his stride, recognising it for what it was. "So do you want to see me again, then? Because I'd like to see you again."

She turned to face him, and considered her reply. "Well, you'd better take me on another date, and see, won't you? It'd better be a good one. I'm very picky."

"What, so I can't just take you down the caff, then?" Bev suggested with a laugh. "Well, then, I'm going to have to find a proper high class establishment to take you to, then, hadn't I?"

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Only the best, love, if you want to keep me."

"I don't think anyone gets to keep you, love," Bev said, "but I'll keep that in mind."

"See, now you understand," she said, a hint of triumph in her voice. "And you even fell for that Elvis line, didn't you?"

Bev had to smile. "It's not often I get asked out by a girl. How was I meant to say no to that? And to think I was going to use the same line on you, except you beat me to it."

She laughed, and shook her head, and smiled at him. "You really are ridiculous, aren't you, pet? I think I'll keep you for a while. You sound like you're going to be a lot of fun, and I could do with some fun."

"I aim to please, love," Bev said, bringing her close.

She let him kiss her, and they lay together for a while, kissing, their hands wandering a little. They didn't fuck again, but Bev didn't mind. It wasn't like he hadn't just scored a girlfriend, after all. He was pleased beyond measure, and she was the kind of girl who'd keep him on his toes. He did like girls who weren't willing to let him dominate so easily. He liked a challenge.

He took her home after midnight and went to bed happy. She promised they could meet again soon, and Bev almost felt like preening, if he was the sort of guy who preened. He wasn't like that, though he was proud of his progress. He seemed to have adapted to being a man rather well, and that he was also accepted as a man was really quite nice too. He didn't even need to come out to everyone if he didn't want to. Some people had conveniently selective memories and had managed to forget he hadn't been a boy his whole life. Still, it didn't matter. Life was good. He had nothing to complain about at all.

* * *

_Coventry, May 1962_  
As it turned out, Janine asked him out the second time. After that first night together, he'd been planning a romantic night out for them the next week, but she'd called up three days later and invited him down to Coventry to go dancing that night. Bev was quick to agree, glad it coincided with a night off so he didn't feel like he'd be abandoning the band, or the chance to make some money.

She picked him up in her car, and insisted on driving them down. Bev was happy to enjoy the ride, and the chance to chat and look at her the whole way, without worrying about the drive. Perhaps she'd planned it that way. He wouldn't have put it past her. She was certainly different to anyone else he'd gone out with before, but that was no bad thing as far as he was concerned.

"So, where are we going, then?" Bev asked.

"Oh, it's just a sweet little place, pet. You'll love it," Janine said, offering a coy glance.

"And to think I was going to take you out for a nice meal, when all you wanted was to go dancing," Bev said.

"Oh, we'll eat later. I have that planned too. I'm going to show you a good time, pet, just you wait and see," Janine said. "Maybe I'll let you plan the next date, if you impress me enough tonight."

Bev saw that as the challenge it was intended to be. She was certainly keeping him on his toes, and he only found her more attractive because of it. "I'm pretty sure you've got the next one planned out already, but we'll see, shall we?"

Janine smiled. She reached over and squeezed his thigh, and he breathed in, clearly seeing where she eventually wanted this night to end.

They talked the rest of the way, covering more topics than he'd ever thought possible. She was interested in physics and astronomy, and she was going to art school next year. She told him about the river where she grew up, and what would be the best route from Land's End to the north that took the least amount of left-hand turns. She also planned to go to Stonehenge for the summer solstice, which Bev thought was the daftest thing he'd ever heard of, but she was going with friends, and invited him along if he wanted to see the shortest night of the year in the most sacred place in Britain. Bev thought saying yes was probably the best answer; he thought it unlikely he'd run into another girl who was willing to invite him to the stones for the solstice. But it seemed like a good way to spend the summer. He promised to take a look at their gig schedule when he got home, just to make sure he could make it. She seemed to accept this, and seemed pleased he had agreed to go.

The club she took him to was not one he'd ever heard of. It was a small establishment, hidden in a basement in a part of town that it didn't seem suited to. It lacked none of the seediness of the surrounding streets, and the club was filled with the sort of people Bev wouldn't have ordinarily gone dancing with.

The club had a strange sort of decor, with lots of gold and strange murals on the walls, but it didn't feel unwelcoming. There was a small band playing covers on the stage, and more people than he thought would fit dancing to the music. At least it was crowded. But it wasn't really his crowd. But the music was good, and Janine was happy, and he couldn't really hate the place, not really.

She took his hand and brought him to the bar, where she ordered them both a drink. She found a table for them and they sat down, taking in the atmosphere. She smiled at him, playing with the ice in her drink.

"So, do you like it, pet? I really love it here," Janine said.

"It's different, that's for sure. What's with the decor?" Bev asked.

"I don't know, I don't really understand it. But I like the bands that play here, and the drinks are cheap. I meet all sorts of interesting people here," Janine said.

"It does seem the place for interesting people. Why'd you bring me here, anyway? Because it's your favourite?" Bev asked.

She shrugged. "I like it here. And you need to get away from those boring clubs every now and then. All those boring places playing the same songs over and over again, and nothing changes. At least they play new music here."

Bev did understand where she was coming from, though it wasn't as if he hadn't done hundreds of gigs of his own, playing other people's songs. "When the crowd stop asking for covers, we'll play something new. Otherwise, we don't get booked. It's not fun, but it's what they want. There's not much we can do about it until we get a break and make it big. Then we can start playing our own songs."

She waved dismissively. "Pop music is boring."

"You can't hate it all if you kept coming to our gigs," Bev replied.

"I was checking you out. A friend said you were worth the effort, so I came along to see if that was true," Janine said.

"And is it true, then?" Bev asked.

"I'm still deciding," Janine said.

He sat back, and gazed at her as she sipped her drink. She smiled at him, and he could feel her foot brushing against his leg. As he was about to reply, an older man approached them, and seemed to recognise Janine as he greeted her.

"I see you've brought another one along. I do hope he lasts longer than the last one did. He was frightfully dull," the man said, pulling up a chair to sit between them.

Janine smiled, and took his words in her stride. "Oh, you never know. He might turn out to be a keeper, this one. I'm taking him to the stones for Solstice. It's been a long time since anyone agreed to go with me."

The man beamed, and looked at Bev. He reached for his hand, and shook it, and Bev had no idea what was going on. He decided the best option was to play it cool, and see what happened.

"Very good! You're a sensible lad, you can sense the power of them, can't you? Have you ever been?" the man said.

Bev shook his head. "No, not yet. Always wanted to, though."

"You're in for a treat, going for solstice. The druids will be there. You'll get to be part of their rituals as they greet the sun. It's just amazing. Bring a drum, if you have one. I know they'll be doing a drumming circle this year," the man said.

Bev couldn't hide his surprise at that. "Druids? Are there still druids in the country, then? I thought they were just old Celtic priests."

"The druids have been around for a very long time. They claim their lineage goes back to the 1700s. They've been worshipping at Stonehenge for decades. Don't worry. They're very nice fellows. You won't be sacrificed on a stone altar to bring the old gods back. There'll just be lots of singing and drumming and dancing around the stones," the man said.

"I'll reserve my judgement on that, I think. But thanks, I guess," Bev said. "I'm Bev, by the way."

"Anthony. I run this place. Pleased to meet you," the man said.

"Oh, right. So, how do you know Janine then?" Bev asked, unable to not ask it.

"We met at the stones a few years ago. She followed me back to the club. She's friends with my daughter," Anthony said.

"Me mum wouldn't let me go, but I snuck out anyway. It's a good thing too. Susy's my best friend. You'll meet her when we go to the stones, I'll be picking her up on the way through," Janine said.

"If she's anything like you, well. I wouldn't be at all surprised," Bev said.

"She's her own person. I think you'll like her a lot. But come on, finish your drink. I want to dance!" Janine said, keen to join the others.

"Alright, alright. Give us a minute," Bev said.

Bev felt he barely had enough time to finish his drink before Janine had grabbed his hand and pulled him to the dancefloor with all the others. It was a bit crowded, but Bev was hardly going to complain if it meant he had to be close to her. She grabbed his hips and pulled him close, making it clear what she wanted to do later. Bev wasn't sure the music really suited the sort of dancing she wanted to do, but he was hardly going to stop her. The energy of the crowd was becoming infectious, and after a couple of songs, Bev was right into it, dancing along with her well into the evening.

By the time they left the club, it was nearly midnight. After a quick curry to fill their bellies after dancing all evening, she took him back to her place. He hadn't realised she lived in Coventry, but she shared a flat with a few friends, and they were all down in London for the week, so she had the place to herself. Bev decided this was a calculated move on her part, but didn't complain. Taking his hand, she led him upstairs. He didn't leave till the next morning, when she drove him to the station to catch a train back to Birmingham.

* * *

_Summer Solstice, Salisbury, June 1962_  
The timing had been incredibly tight, and Bev almost hadn't made it. The band hadn't quite forgiven him for running off to spend the night with his girlfriend, rather than pick up another gig they'd been offered, but Bev didn't care. Bristol hadn't been that great, anyway, and the pay had been pitiful. He was happy to leave and catch the last train out to Swindon, where Janine would be waiting for him. She'd drive them back to Stonehenge for the dawn service. It wasn't like they weren't going to Swindon next anyway, but Bev didn't care. He'd wear whatever anger they threw at him for leaving them to deal with his kit until he met up with them again. He'd been kind enough to pack it up for them, but there hadn't been time to pack it into the van and catch the train in time. He almost felt a little sorry about it, but they'd been on the road for over a month, and he was eager for some space, if only for a night or so. Until he met up with the band, he was going to have a great time.

The train got to Swindon late. By the time he got off, it was getting close to midnight. He couldn't see Janine waiting for him as he left the station, but he knew she'd be there sooner or later, and decided to wait until she turned up. Ten minutes later, she arrived, apologised for being late, and offered some fish and chips as penance. Bev suddenly realised how hungry he was, and quickly joined her in the car as they began the drive back to Stonehenge.

"So, how was the gig? Were there any pretty girls there that took your fancy?" she said.

"Just you, love. I didn't hang around long enough to look, anyway. I had a train to catch," Bev said, tucking into his dinner.

"Such a sweet boy, aren't you, pet?" Janine said. "Just you sit back, and let me do the driving. I'll get us there in one piece. It'll take about an hour, so don't feel you need to eat in a hurry, mind. We'll have a bit of time to kill before the ritual starts, but that's alright. You can meet everyone before it all begins. I'm sure you're gonna love it, I just know it. It'll blow your mind."

"Well, we'll see about that," Bev said. He was reserving judgement until the whole thing was over. It wasn't that he was sceptical, either; perhaps there was something there, something more than just old stones buried in the ground. But he'd wait and see what it was like before deciding either way.

By the time they arrived at the stones, having taken a detour into Salisbury to pick up Susy and a few other things for the ritual, it was after 1am. Janine parked as close as she could get, and Bev got his first look at the stones. They were hard to see, and only partially lit by headlights and firelight, but the scale of them seemed unreal.

Bev hadn't expected to see so many people there. It seemed to be mostly druids, their white robes giving them away, but there were others, too. Bev assumed they were there for the ritual, and had come early to make sure they got a good spot. On the drive there, Janine had told him about the last solstice ritual, where a crowd of drunk troublemakers had caused a riot halfway through the ritual, throwing bottles and starting fights. There were a few thousand people there, and Janine remembered the chaos that erupted on the outside of the stones as people began to run away, trying to get away from the violence. Janine had almost escaped unharmed when she was grabbed from behind and had her robes torn as two men tried to rape her. They'd hit her, but she'd fought back, and got smacked in the face for her troubles. She was sure she'd have been worse off if someone hadn't intervened, and carried her away to safety. She had never known who they were, but they'd made sure she was safe, and then disappeared. Bev was sure if that had happened to him, he'd never have gone back the next year, but Janine refused to let them dampen her enthusiasm, and went anyway, just to spite them.

As they approached the growing crowd, Janine waved to a man standing by a fire, and ran over to him. Susy followed, with Bev following as fast as he could without looking like he didn't belong there. It wasn't until he got close that he recognised the man as Anthony, the man who ran the club he and Janine had gone dancing at several times now. He seemed nice enough, Bev thought, though he did have his own sense of weird. The white robe he was wearing seemed to confirm that.

"Ahh, Janine, you made it at last. I thought you'd be earlier than this," Anthony said.

"Sorry, I had to pick him up in Swindon, he couldn't get any closer from Bristol and make it here on time, and the traffic coming out of Salisbury was awful. Everyone's heading up here, I think. But I'm here now, and we're not too late, are we?" Janine said.

"No, no, you're just in time. We've got a lot to do before the ritual begins. It's Bev, isn't it? So glad you could make it at last. It's going to be a good day up there. A powerful day. I can hear the stones singing. Oh, Susy, you did bring the robes, didn't you?" Anthony said.

Susy nodded, and handed him the bag she'd been carrying. "I had to dig around in the attic, but I found them. I hope they fit us, it's been a while since we had to wear them."

Anthony waved away her concerns. "They'll fit, it won't be a problem. I have one for you, too, Bev. You do want to join the main procession with us, don't you?"

Bev wasn't sure he'd agreed to actually participating when he'd said he would come here, but, well, it couldn't hurt, could it? "Uh, sure, I guess so?"

Janine grabbed his arm happily. "Oh, it's going to be marvellous. I can just feel it. You'll get to be right up there with all the druids, and it'll be wonderful, pet. We'll get a great view of the dawn."

"Speaking of druids, here, Bev, get your robe on. You'll need to be accepted by the Arch Druid first if you want to march with us," Anthony said, handing him a robe of his own.

"Oh, right, sure. Sounds good." Bev pulled the heavy linen robe over his clothes, and appreciated the extra layer of warmth it provided. It wasn't a particularly cold night, not like winter, but it wasn't warm enough to do without it, either. Janine and Susy made sure he was dressed properly, tying a white cord around his waist, and pulling the hood over his head. As for how well the robe fit, the length seemed alright, but the sleeves were a little too long, or so Bev felt. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt now, but at least he knew the band wouldn't be there to see him dressed like this. The things he did for a girl he rather liked.

Once Anthony was convinced he was dressed properly, they headed up to the stones, where a handful of druids in much finer regalia seemed to be preparing for the ritual. Bev saw a sword on the grass, and tried not to feel afraid. Being amongst the stones for the first time, Bev felt apprehensive, and a little in awe of them. They were larger, and smaller, than he thought they were going to be. He touched one as they passed by, feeling the cold rough surface. Something in the air seemed to change, but it was so intangible he said nothing about it.

"I've found another one for you, Arch Druid. He's a drummer," Anthony said.

Bev couldn't tell who he was addressing. Only when one of the druids turned to them and approached them did Bev guess that the man before them was the Arch Druid. Dressed in white, with regalia and decoration, and a large staff with a small hook on the top, Bev found him slightly intimidating.

The Arch Druid looked at Bev. "Are you truly interested in learning the ways of the ancient druids? Have you come here with a pure heart, and not with the intention to cause trouble?"

"Yes, sir, I'm interested in the druid way. I'm not here to cause trouble, really, I'm not," Bev said, hoping he sounded as sincere as he did in his head. He almost wanted to say no and get kicked out, but he wasn't sure Janine would ever forgive him if he tried it.

The Arch Druid had a withering gaze, but after some contemplation, he seemed to nod. "Alright, he's in for tonight. If he's still keen after the solstice, you may take him to the groves. We'll see how interested you really are."

Bev didn't feel particularly welcome, but as long as he hadn't been kicked out, he didn't really care. He watched the Arch Druid go, wondering if he was always like that.

"Here you go, take a drum. We need to practice," Janine said, handing him a drum and some sticks.

"Oh, right. Sure. Lead the way," Bev said.

The next two hours passed by faster than Bev expected. He'd practiced the drumming for over an hour, and his arms were not happy with him. Still, he was still awake thanks to the coffee Susy had brought, which he felt was something of an achievement, given how tired he was. The crowds kept growing. Bev hadn't expected to see quite so many people. He reckoned there might've been a thousand by the time the public were allowed up onto the stones. After that, the numbers kept growing, along with a significant police presence that was apparently meant to stop trouble. Bev tried not to feel too scared, but his career as a drummer had taught him to read a crowd, and he was sure something bad would happen at some point. There was just enough tension in the air to suggest it, even if he couldn't quite pinpoint who might end up setting it off.

At half past four, with the sky beginning to lighten with the oncoming dawn, the ritual began. Bev was feeling good, and the anticipation of finally beginning the ritual was great. A horn sounded somewhere. Bev got in line with the other drummers, and with that first beat, everything felt alive. The energy inside the stones was seriously intense, and Bev drummed with them, processing around the stones as they awakened the great spirits of the henge. Janine had offered a brief overview of the ritual and its significance while they'd been preparing, but a lot of the detail was lost to him. That it was hard to hear anything over the drumming didn't help. All he could do was try to keep up as he was jostled around, and remember what he was meant to be doing. All he was really aware of was his own footsteps, and the drums calling all around him. Smoke rose from a fire somewhere, and the air was filled with incense. At least, Bev assumed it was incense. The heartbeat of the earth pulsed through the souls of his feet and straight up his spine.

There was a lot of singing and chanting in languages that weren't always English. A great circle dance spiralled between the stones, pushing through all the people. Bev was caught up in it, drumming as much as he could, given he couldn't move as much as he felt he needed to drum properly. But this wasn't his kind of drumming. Drumming and walking involved very different skills to sitting behind a kit on stage, and he wasn't sure he was very good at it. He had good enough rhythm to get away with it, even though his sense of pride as a professional was against doing a half-arsed job of it. No one else seemed to notice, though. Looking around, all he saw were happy people lost in the energy of the crowd.

There was a strange glow, and a bright light, as the sword flashed, raised high into the air as it was sheathed. Bev didn't catch the significance of it. He was too busy being pushed around, and dragged this way and that, trying to keep his timing. He definitely had not prepared enough for this, and his head was beginning to hurt. The crowds were closing in, and the sky stretched high above him, threatening to crash down on him. At some point, the stones began to glow, and then there was dancing. Drums rang in his ears, and the earth felt like it was quaking.

There was a moment. Whether it was sheer exhaustion, or something greater than himself, he didn't know, but as he trod around the stones, beating the rhythm on the drum, he felt like he'd slipped elsewhere. The drums was all he heard, and the energy from the earth seemed incredible. He felt he was back in time, with the ancient druids. He felt he could see them there, dressed in their robes, as the moon shone brightly overhead. The land seemed empty, holding its breath. The hills sighed, and a strange cry filled the air. A stream of smoke drifted up from the altar, and as they sacrificed a goat, catching its blood in a bowl they lifted to the heavens, all he could hear was a shrill cry, and felt the sensation of blood pouring onto his feet in offering. Ancient power filled him, and he could smell something aromatic, more incense perhaps, all around him. He felt lightheaded, but somehow connected to the stones around him. He felt their solid presence, their quiet call in the darkness, and how they embraced him as he moved around them. Anthony was right, they were singing with joy. Then someone grabbed his arm, and he felt disoriented as a hand pointed out towards the sun, which was now slipping through the pillars of stone to hit them all, like a solar laser beam.

"Bev, look! It's the dawn!" Janine whispered with excitement. "Here it is! Solstice is here!"

Bev, dazed and unsure, couldn't look away as the sunlight washed over them. His head began to ache, the blood pulsing loudly in his ears, he could hear drumming all around him, beating louder and louder until it overwhelmed him. Then all he remembered was darkness.

* * *

"Did you lace his coffee? I thought I told you not to do that with his! He's not used to it like we are! You'd better hope he still wants to see me after this, because I quite like him, and I don't want you ruining this for me, alright?"

Janine's voice pierced his mind, though he didn't quite understand her words. He slowly opened his eyes, finding himself in a bedroom. How he'd got here, he didn't know. His head was swimming, and his body felt like lead. He wasn't sure he could move. But he could hear Janine, and presumably Susy, arguing in another room, and wondered what had happened. Then a door slammed, and Bev squeezed his eyes shut, the noise exacerbating the pain in his head. He suspected he was hungover, though perhaps not just because of alcohol. Whatever else it was, he felt like he'd been run over by a train.

How much time passed after that, he didn't know, but eventually, Janine came into the room and sat beside him, taking his hand. Bev wanted to speak, but he wasn't really sure what to say. The argument hadn't made enough sense to him, even though he'd understood the words. He had a strange collection of memories in his mind, fragments and dreams; what was true and what was fiction, he didn't know. Drum beats throbbed in his mind, through his body, along with a bright light that filled him with euphoria. Memories of staring at the sky as the stars spun around were vague and faint.

"Hey, are you alright? I didn't mean for this to happen like that. Do you remember much, pet?" Janine said, her voice soft and soothing.

Bev inhaled deeply as he tried to prise some sort of coherent memory out of his mind. "Sol-stice? Is that it? I don't really know. Everything hurts."

She stroked his forehead, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, it was Solstice, we went to Stonehenge. We're back in Salisbury now. Anthony has a place here. We brought you back here when you collapsed. You hadn't passed out, not properly, but you needed to be elsewhere, so we brought you here and put you to bed. It was probably for the best, too. There were riots again, not long after we left. We got lucky."

"Did we?" Bev was uncertain. "What happened to me? What'd you give me?"

"It wasn't me, it was Susy. She slipped some weed into your coffee, even though I told her not to. We're used to it, it always enhances the druid rites for us, but you weren't prepared for it, and who knows how much you actually had? You might've had too much. I'm sorry. She didn't listen to me," Janine said.

"Is this what weed does to you, then? Cos I feel like shit," Bev said.

"Well, I think she only gave you weed. It's what we normally use, but she wouldn't tell me that's all she used before she stormed off. Had a bad trip, then, hey? What do you remember, anyway?" Janine said.

Bev sat up a little, trying to feel a little better. "Lots of drumming, and everything glowed. I felt - really good. The stones were singing." He closed his eyes, thinking. "The last thing I remember is that something was sacrificed, then there was some sort of screaming. I don't really remember much after that."

Janine smiled. "Doesn't matter, hey, pet? You're safe now. I'll take care of you until you're well enough, then I'll take you home. You don't look like you're up for much right now."

"Shit. Better - better tell the band. 'sposed to be in Swindon for a gig tonight. I'm probably not making that one, am I?" Bev said.

"Given it's nearly six in the evening, probably not. You slept a long time. Weed really knocks you out, I've never seen anyone get so tired like that before. I hope you feel better now," Janine said.

"Shit. Denny's not gonna be pleased. You'd better call the venue and let them know. Tell them - tell 'em it was food poisoning. That's close enough to the truth without embarrassing myself, yeah?" Bev said.

"You don't want to call yourself, pet?" Janine said.

"I'm not well enough to deal with Denny's anger. You call him. I'll wear it later when I don't feel so shit," Bev said, feeling the pain intensify behind his eyes. "Ow. I really hope she just gave me weed. I don't really want to think about what else she might've given me. Was she actually trying to hurt me, or did she just not think?"

"She said I didn't tell her not to enhance yours, but I did. But there was a lot going on, and maybe she did just forget. I know she got to Salisbury late. The coffee was very last minute. I don't think she meant any harm, but that's all well and good to say now, hey, pet? Don't worry, she doesn't hate you. It was just a mistake," Janine said. "So, who've I gotta call for you, then?"

Bev sat up a bit more, and looked around for his coat. "It's in my jacket, I think. I was meant to meet them there anyway, so Denny gave me the address. Just leave a message with them, tell 'em I'll meet them - wherever we're meant to be after Swindon. I can't remember where that is."

"I think you should go home, and they can just deal with the fact that you're sick. But it's your call, I guess," Janine said. She got up and retrieved his jacket from the back of the door.

Bev searched the pockets until he found the piece of paper he needed. "That's the one. I think we're meant to be playing at eight, but even if I could get there, I doubt I'll be able to play. I'll have to sit this one out. I doubt the band'll be there just yet, but leave a message with them anyway. I'll see how I feel tomorrow."

Janine took the paper from him. "Alright, I gotta head out then, but I won't be long. Get some rest. Maybe I'll make you some tea, and you can have some toast. That might help you feel better."

She offered a kiss, and Bev smiled, feeling a little better. "Alright, don't be long."

There was another kiss, then she was gone. Bev sat back, taking a moment to breathe, and wake up a little more. His memories were still a little fuzzy, but he didn't feel bad, necessarily. His body felt like bricks, and his head ached, but he didn't feel bad. Even the fragments he did remember didn't seem scary, which was probably for the best. He seemed to have come out of the experience fairly unscathed. He thought he might have actually enjoyed it if he'd known what he was taking. He wasn't sure where that left him now. Janine was fun, and he did like her very much, but was this really what he wanted to get involved in? Druids and drugs and other esoteric weird shit? He really wasn't sure.

As he sat there, he went over what he did remember. Janine was assuming he'd had a bad trip, but had he actually had a bad trip? The sound of the drums had been amazing, and the earth had filled him with a great feeling of euphoria. The scream, well. There had been riots soon after. Perhaps that's what that was. But apart from that, it hadn't felt terrible. His head hurt, but he hadn't panicked, or thrown up, or got paranoid. He just felt incredibly hungover. Perhaps he needed to try it again, just to see if knowingly taking it would make for a better experience. Or perhaps he should just go home, and face Denny's wrath for leaving them stranded. He'd have to check the date sheet at some point, just to see if there was any place he could catch up with them that didn't involve going back to Birmingham.

Janine brought hot tea and toast when she returned, and Bev felt a little better once he'd eaten. The tea seemed to clear his head, and he almost felt up to moving again. It seemed to be making his headache retreat, which he felt was a good sign, and he didn't feel quite as drowsy as he had earlier. It might be a few hours till he was back to normal, but at least there was progress.

"So, how're you feeling, pet?" Janine said.

"I'll live, I think. So you got through to the club, then?" Bev said.

"I left a message with them. I said we'd drive through there tomorrow, so if the band had any messages, we'd pick them up then. I hope that's alright, pet. When you're ready, I'll drive you to home. You're not mad about what happened, are you? I never wanted you to experience the Solstice that way. I didn't think you'd be interested. But I'd never slip it to you like that without you knowing. I might love the high, but I'm not irresponsible. It's not for everyone," Janine said.

"I know, I don't blame you for this. She might've just mixed up the flasks. It's not like it was a bad experience, anyway. I didn't hate it, but I might've enjoyed it more if I'd known beforehand. Everything was just so intense, and I'm pretty sure I fell into a trance halfway through. But it wasn't bad. The drumming was amazing, and I didn't think being in a crowd like that, being part of something like that, could feel that good. I don't know why I collapsed or anything, but I don't regret it. It was strange in many ways, and I'm still not entirely remembering everything, but it wasn't bad," Bev said.

"Well, there's another ritual at dawn if you wanted to try it again. The crowds should be smaller because of the riots, and you might have a better chance of feeling everything that happens. If you're still interested in seeing it all the way through, of course. I'd understand if you wanted to just go home," Janine said. "We don't have to go as druids or anything, we can just go for the experience, if you want. No drugs, unless you want to, either."

Bev thought for a moment. Should he really pass up the chance to see it again, when he might not ever have another excuse to be there? It had been intense, and perhaps, with a smaller crowd, it might be different. Perhaps better. "Alright, let's go again. And maybe just a little bit of weed this time, yeah? I want to try it again."

"You sure about that, hey? I didn't think you were into that scene at all. You always seemed too straight-laced for it," Janine said, surprised.

"Well, I can't just turn back from that experience now, can I? It was pretty intense, and I really felt great. I felt things I can't explain. I want to know what it's like when I know how much I'm taking. Maybe I won't be so sleepy if it's just a little bit, and I'm not so sleep-deprived. I mean, it's not something I'd normally have done, no, and if you'd asked me in the car on the way there, I'd probably have said no. But that door's been opened now, and it's hard to turn back. Just once more, that's all I want," Bev said.

Janine smiled. "Well, perhaps Susy did you a favour, after all. At least you didn't have a bad reaction to it. So, what do you want to do to kill the time before we have to head to the stones again?"

"Well, sleep, for one. I'm not staying up all night again. But until then, I'm sure we can think of something to do, don't you?" Bev said, offering a suggestive look.

* * *

Bev was woken a little after 3am. After an evening of good food, and good sex, they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms, with Janine promising she'd wake them up in time to get to the stones. Bev hadn't quite believed her, but she had come through. He felt a lot better now, cleared of all the fatigue that had plagued his mind and body. The sleep had been restorative. Sure, it was a ghastly early time to be awake, but given he'd slept for most of the past day, he didn't mind so much. He opened his eyes, and stirred his body into life, feeling Janine moving beside him.

"When're we off, then? Are Susy and her dad coming too?" Bev said.

Janine yawned. "We'll leave in a bit. Not sure about them, though. I think they left ages ago to set up or something and to get to the vigil. We'll miss most of that, but that's alright. We were asleep, after all, pet. Come on, stir your bones. We've got a ritual to get to."

Bev yawned, but followed her as she got to her feet. Janine offered to make coffee while Bev got dressed, promising there would be no added weed anywhere near it. Bev smiled, but he did believe her. They'd planned to smoke a little before the ritual began, just to give it time to kick in. They weren't going to participate, just attend, which Bev felt was probably the wiser decision. Just being there, and having a better chance to observe it, would be all he needed. He might stand a better chance of understanding what was going on.

It was close to 4am by the time they arrived, and the crowd was larger than Bev had expected. Janine had said it would be smaller than the first night, but it was still pretty large. They were gathered in the carpark, fires burning all over the place, as people played instruments and sung songs. The sky was beginning to lighten, just a little bit, though dawn was still some time away.

"Should we go find Susy, then? Or just mingle with the crowd?" Bev said as they approached the crowd.

"Let's just mingle. They're probably busy with the druids anyway. They'll be moving to the stones soon. Besides, I'd rather spend a little time just with you. I might not see you for a while, pet," Janine said.

"Alright, let's mingle. I'm sorry I've been so busy lately, but I can't take you out if I have no money, and that means playing gigs all over the country," Bev said. "Hopefully, it'll settle down a little so I've got a bit more time to spend with you. I do miss you."

Janine took his arm and kissed his cheek softly. "You'll keep. Besides, I do like watching you play. I'll try to come more often."

"Even if you hate the music?" Bev teased.

Janine smiled. "Maybe I don't hate it that much when you're playing."

Bev felt that was about as generous as she was going to get, and took it for what it was. They slowly mingled into the crowd, and let them draw them up towards the stones as dawn approached. Bev felt glad to be in a better headspace, because he could appreciate the magic of being here, on this day, and seeing the sun rise. The power in the air was palpable. And he hadn't even had any weed yet. Maybe he didn't need it.

The crowd spread out as much as they moved forward. Bev found they had both slowed to a meandering stroll as they made their way to the stones. Bev was too busy taking in everything around him to notice Janine rolling a joint beside him. He was too taken by the endless grassy plain, the colours in the sky, and the people all around them. Some were dressed in colourful robes and had flowers in their hair. Others had guitars and drums and other percussion instruments and were chanting as they walked. The stones began to rise magnificently against the lightening sky, still covered partly by clouds. They seemed much larger than Bev thought they were.

"You still wanna try it, then, pet? Because it'll take a while to hit, if you want it to come while the ritual's going on," Janine said.

Bev looked back at her and suddenly wasn't sure. "I dunno, maybe? Do you think it's a good idea?"

"I mean, I do it all the time, I know it's better for me like this. You don't have to have a whole one, even a bit will give you a bit of a boost. You'll get the pretty colours, I think, at the very least. That might be more your level for now, yeah?" Janine said.

"Yeah, that sounds like me. I don't want to push it too far if it's just going to make me sleepy again. I don't want to miss it," Bev said.

Janine lit up and took a drag. Bev was, in many ways, used to the smell, but it still stood out to him as they walked. He took it when she offered, and decided one hit was a good place to start. He breathed in deep, willingly taking it into his body. He felt no different afterwards, but his mind turned more contemplative as they walked in silence. He was sure he felt his body become lighter, but what that really meant, he wasn't sure. He just kept staring at the sky, watching for the sun.

Janine took his hand, linking their fingers together. Bev took another hit a while later, beginning to feel something happening. The earth seemed to breathe beneath his feet, and he could feel energy reaching out to him. He felt he could stand taller, with the earth supporting him.

The blast of a horn rang through the air, and across the plain. The air changed, and the crowd began to move back to the stones.

"We should find a good spot soon, or you'll never get to see what happens. Come on, love, it's nearly sunrise," Janine said, pulling him gently by the hand.

Bev followed, and they moved closer to the stones. The energy radiating from them was more intense than Bev imagined, and even being close to one of them sent shivers down his spine. They were as close to the centre as they could get, even though they were still some distance back. At least Bev could see the druids gathering, their white robes setting them apart from everyone else around them. He recognised some of them from the first night, but a lot of that first night was a blur, so he wasn't bothered by that.

For a still moment, no one spoke. The Arch Druid had everyone's attention, and began the rites with an address and some prayers. A procession around the stones proceeded, though Bev and Janine stayed where they were, trying not to get caught up in the crowd. There was more drumming, and the thudding of the earth synchronised with it beneath his feet. Bev watched as some offerings were laid out at the four cardinal directions. The purpose of this wasn't entirely clear to Bev, but it was hard to complain when the atmosphere was so intense.

The crowd moved them forward again, and they began their snake-like movement towards the heal stone. He was sure he'd touched the stones the previous night, but he'd been so out of it, he didn't really remember what that was like. But he would get his chance now as they filed passed the stone, pushed on by the crowd. Bev paused, embraced the rough, hard stone with both hands, and touched the stone to his head, for no other reason than it seemed to feel like the right thing to do with ancient stones.

He heard a loud heartbeat in his ears, and the sensation of something pulling him close, and washing over him. He felt like the entire cosmos had moved through him, something so unutterably ancient, he had no idea how to comprehend it. What, ultimately, those sensations were, he would never really know. His hands were tingling when he let go and stared at the rock in awe.

Janine grabbed his arm and pulled him forward. "Got a headful of the stones, hey? Yeah, they can do that to you if you're open to them. I didn't think they'd pull you in though. You seemed too sceptical."

Bev shook his head, unsure. "I don't know what that was, but it was something. I mean, I don't feel high, but man. That was intense."

Janine nodded. "Yeah, you should've felt the energy before that, pet, this just enhances it, makes it easier to move around. I've seen some amazing things out here. I touched something close to the cosmos when I first came out here. There's this ancient energy that just radiates, and it gets into your bones if you open yourself up to it."

That sounded a little too familiar for his liking. "Shit. Maybe there's something to all this after all."

Janine smiled. "See, I told you the stones were special. Now, come on, we don't want to miss the rest of the ritual. Come on!"

She playfully pulled him forward, and they moved with the crowd, trying to get a good view of what was going on around the stones as they began their service. They managed to squeeze in against one of the stones, giving them just enough space to see the Arch Druid lay down some objects on a white cloth.

"They're elemental representations. Earth, air, fire, water, y'know?" Janine said.

"Oh, right. They're part of this druidism, then?" Bev said.

"Yeah, they are. They're part of nature, part of ourselves, so they're important to work with, and to honour, in order to build our relationship with the natural world," Janine said.

Bev felt that made about as much sense as anything else. He craned his neck to see what was happening, and saw the sword again. The Arch Druid was addressing the crowd, and talking about the restoration of peace and of the world. There were cheers from the crowd every so often, drowning out the words, but Bev felt he got the gist of it.

The sky was constantly growing lighter all around them, and as the sun got closer to rising, so the energy of the crowd grew. Drums began to play. Invocations, prayers, and hymns, were mostly audible over the noise as the druids made ritual around a fire. Bev split his attention between them, and the coming dawn, watching the eastern sky with intense curiosity. It wasn't as if he'd never seen the sun rise, but it wasn't something he did very often, and there was something magical about watching it at this point in time at Stonehenge, amongst this huge crowd of people.

There was a lot of singing. Everyone was facing the east now, and Bev held Janine in his arms, leaning against the rock. Bev could feel a strange energy coursing up his spine, keeping him rooted to the spot. Not that he had plans of moving. The music was strangely hypnotic and it moved through him in strange ways.

He was quite sure there was, at least, a light trance coming over him now. The sky was amazingly bright, with flashes of light eking their way through the clouds. The heartbeat of the earth came up through his now-bare feet, and up his spine, until it hit his head, pulsing within him. Janine was humming something, and he caught her tune, letting those reverberations fill them both. Whatever this was, whatever was causing these sensations, it filled him with joy.

And then the sun rose.

It was a small sliver, the tiniest of bright orange flashing on the horizon, but there it was. The crowd saw it in waves, until there was singing, and drumming, and loud noise as people welcomed the sun. Janine had chosen their spot well, so they would be high enough to be touched by the sunlight. It was nowhere near them just yet, but slowly, slowly, as the sun climbed higher, the dark shadows of the night gave way to the light. Bev had never felt so much joy in a crowd before. This was pure excitement, pure ecstasy, pure happiness and joy. He could not help but be moved by it, carried along on the emotions of those around them.

And then the sun hit them.

It was hot and bright and happy and wonderful, and Bev felt all the chill in his body disappear. He was warm, and Janine was warm, and they both glowed with a warm orange light. He breathed in. The energy from the earth was now hot and energetic, and whatever dregs of illness he'd had left from the night before were stripped from him, and he was left with nothing but bright energy and a happy mind.

In that moment, everything was perfect.

It was so perfect that Bev almost felt he'd blocked out the crowd around them, so focused on the sun, and Janine, and the light, and the energy, and the heat swirling all around them. He closed his eyes as the sun became brighter, rose higher, got to the point where all the land was under its light. Something rushed up from the earth and filled him completely, energy so pure, and so magical, he couldn't comprehend it. It took him beyond everything, filling his vision with a world bigger, and stranger, than he had ever imagined.

Janine was singing then. He could hear her. She was singing a song so painfully beautiful it grounded him. She grasped his hands and turned to face him and suddenly they were kissing, and Bev didn't know what to do except hold her so close she would not slip free, and disappear into the aether.

"Come on, pet, you need to ground," Janine whispered loudly in his ear. Her words echoed around his mind as she took his hand and pulled him away, finally breaking him away from the sun, and the light, and the bright, bright energy of the earth.

Where they went, Bev wasn't entirely sure. There were suddenly trees and darkness and the earth grasped his feet as he walked, was led along by her, until they were completely isolated from the world. She stripped him and lay him down on the earth, and he felt himself begin to come down. Then she was naked, too, and lying on top of him, and she kissed him, her fingers clawing the earth.

"Let's make some magic. Fill me with your energy, let me send it out to the world. Let's fill the world with love and peace," Janine whispered.

Bev understood completely what she wanted; he could see her vision in his mind. He sat up a little as she prepared, watching her strap a cock to her body as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. He whispered to it, as she did, filling it with their intentions and magic. He licked it, stroked it, gave it his energy.

And then she pushed inside him, and the high was so great he could think of nothing else.

Everything was a bit of a blur after that, and when he finally came to his senses, he was lying in a copse of trees, with Janine by his side. A blanket covered them, staving off the chill in the air. His bare skin directly touching the earth filled him with cold, slow energy, and he could feel how wet he was between his legs. He smiled, the lingering ecstasy filling him with peace and happiness.

"I've never been with anyone who can channel as much energy as you, pet. You were incredible," Janine murmured into the silence.

"It was pretty incredible, yeah. I never expected it would feel like that," Bev said, matching her tone.

"How soon do you want to leave, anyway?" Janine said.

"I dunno, what did you tell them when you called?" Bev said.

"Food poisoning, I said you were going home to rest. There's no way you should be playing tonight after this, anyway. You need to go home and rest. I'll drive you," Janine said.

Bev sighed. "Alright. We'll swing by to see if they left us a note, I will probably need to meet up with them later anyway."

Janine shifted beside him and sat up. "We'd better get moving, then. The crowd's getting thin."

Bev didn't know how she knew that, but didn't question it. They got to their feet, brushed off the soil, and dressed, making sure they didn't look like they'd been sleeping in the soil after a fuck. They washed their faces in some cold water from a flask Janine had brought, which helped Bev wake up.

"We'll wash properly later, but this will do for now. Come on, pet, time to go home," Janine said.

Bev was fine with that, and followed her as she led him out of the forest.

* * *

_Sparkhill, Birmingham_  
In some ways, Bev appreciated a long, slow, meandering drive back to Birmingham. They'd taken their time, after stopping back at Janine's for a shower and some food. There was no point in driving by the club earlier than they needed to, anyway, so they took their time.

By the time they got to Swindon, it was after 6pm, and Bev was thankful that all he'd been told to do by the band was go home and rest, even if it did mean forfeiting his pay for a last-minute ring-in. Perhaps he'd been working too hard, if the prospect of a few days' rest delighted him so much. They'd catch up with him back home, at any rate, so there was no point in worrying about it.

They didn't speak much as they drove. Janine occasionally chatted to him, but most of the ride was in silence. Bev had a lot on his mind. As the day progressed, his memories of the ritual solidified, and he wanted to spend a moment digesting them, and trying to figure out what that meant for him now. He was sure there'd be a point where he would talk it over with Janine, but right now, that wasn't what he needed.

"Well, here we are. When will I see you again?" Janine said, as she pulled up in front of his house.

Bev stretched a little. It had been a long drive. "Dunno. I'll let the band sort itself out first, I reckon. Either they'll accuse me of laziness and fire me, or they'll be understanding and I'll still have gigs to play. At least if I hole up here for a few days, they might be convinced I was sick, and you had to drive me home. Though I do still feel a little out of it, so maybe that's for the best. I don't know."

She leaned over and gently kissed his cheek. "Take care, pet, I'll be waiting."

He kissed her back, properly, and reluctantly left the car. He had a lot going on in his head, but he was home at last, and that was all he really cared about at that moment. He waved her goodbye, and watched her drive off, not regretting his decision at all, even if it wasn't one he would readily share with his mother.

She greeted him warmly when he returned, and explained he'd been sick. She was surprised he was home early, but there's nothing like being sick to forgive his sins, and he let her fuss over him. He didn't tell her the real reasons, of course, though she had known he was planning to go to the stones for the Solstice, but she sent him to bed, and went to make him some soup. He was asleep by the time his head hit the pillow, where he dreamed about all sorts of strange and wonderful things.

* * *

_Central Birmingham, early July, 1962_  
Bev didn't notice him until he'd finished eating, this small slender lad hanging by Carl's side. He kept glancing about nervously, as if he didn't think he belonged. It seemed strange as Bev was familiar with the boy's rather hyperactive stage presence. How that boy was the same boy who was now looking like he wanted to disappear into the shadows, he didn't know. It wasn't till Bev saw his face again that he knew why. He hadn't meant to discover his secret, but there was just something about his face that looked...

And then Bev looked again and he wasn't sure what exactly was different about his face that he had noticed. He wasn't sure he'd just been tricked by the shadows, and seen something that wasn't there. But the more he looked at him, the more he felt he'd been right first time. By some sheer stroke of luck, he'd found another boy like him, a boy who had once been a girl. It sent shivers down his spine. He wanted to talk to him, to tell him he was like him too, but he also knew he'd probably be far too skittish about it to talk to him, at least not while they were strangers, and in a public space. There was also a risk that he may still have misread the situation, but there was only one way to find out whether he was right. So, figuring he should at least try and make contact first, he went over to them.

"This your new boy, hey, Charlie?" Bev said as he came up beside them.

"Hey, Bev, there you are. Yeah, this is Ace. Ace, this is Bev, an old friend of mine," Carl said, introducing them.

"Well, I wouldn't have said we went back that far. He's just teasing. I've seen you on stage. You're good," Bev said.

Ace seemed to blush a little. "Ahh, thanks. You're pretty good too. Managed to catch a show or two when I can."

It became crystal clear then. Hearing his voice, Bev knew what he was. It made him even more determined to become friends with him so that one day he might share his secret with him. It took every strength not to say anything as they exchanged small talk and gossip, and Bev caught Ace glancing at him shyly every now and then, as if he was wondering about him too.

They didn't talk for long. Bev's attention was drawn elsewhere, taking some time to chat with his other friends and fellow musicians, and Ace was pushed out of his mind for the moment. Bev had a few people he wanted to catch up with anyway, the people he only ever met at Alex's because they were too busy to meet anywhere else.

He was lucky to be here at all, if he was honest. He'd managed to bullshit Denny enough to keep his job, and while he'd paid for it by working harder than the others, at least he'd been forgiven. There was no point in being kicked out of a band he'd only been in for six months, even if he had actually just slacked off to see his girlfriend, rather than play some gigs. Then again, most seemed to forgive him for it, anyway, since he was sure they'd have done the same damn thing if they'd had a chance. At least he could regale them with tales of the Solstice celebrations, since he'd technically fallen ill after that, and slept all day. There was a suggestion of skirting close to Salisbury in December for the winter solstice, and seeing if it would be just as amazing.

He thought of Janine, then. They had met up a couple of times since for coffee, but they were both so busy there hadn't been time for anything else. Bev wasn't sure where their relationship was going, either. They had separate lives in separate cities, and some of the things Janine wanted to get him involved in, well, he wasn't so sure about that. The things he'd experienced during that Solstice ritual had indeed changed the way he looked at the world, but whether he wanted to repeat that, and whether he could find a space to repeat it that didn't involve weed, he didn't know.

For the moment, they would simply meet up whenever they could, and leave anything serious until such time as their lives demanded it, if they ever did. Maybe all Janine would ever be was a good time, but she'd taught him a lot about life, and about relationships, and she'd changed him now in ways he didn't really regret. She'd been good for him, but whether they would ever make a good couple, well, he was undecided about that. He felt she would always be too wild and independent to settle down, and if he was going to devote his life to bands, well, he would hardly be home, either. Maybe fun was the best way to go. He smiled at that thought, knowing how much fun he had with her.

And then there was Ace, another boy like him. Well, he didn't know that for sure, but something about him captivated him, and at least they lived in the same city, so they would at least see each other regularly. That his mind was already that far along the relationship track worried him a little, but he snatched glances at him as he mingled in the crowds, trying to see if his first guess had been correct. At the very least, he looked like he needed as many good friends as he could get. There was the look of a loner on his face as he stood beside Carl, fitting in, but looking like he wanted to be elsewhere. And then someone else grabbed his attention, and he lost sight of Ace in the crowd.

"Hey, Bev, wait up," Ace called, catching his attention again some time later.

Bev turned to see him running up to him, still looking shyly at him. It was late, there weren't so many people around now, and Bev had been about to leave himself. "Ace. Hi. You off for the night then?"

"Yeah. I just- wanted to say goodbye. Maybe we'll talk again soon, yeah?" Ace said hopefully.

"Yeah, I'd like that," Bev said. "Keep Charlie on his toes for me."

Ace grinned. "Will do."

Bev watched him leave just as suddenly as he'd arrived, shaking his head in disbelief. Strange kid, but very likeable. Hearing Denny's call behind him, Bev hurried off to meet him. He was more than ready for bed.

* * *

_Castle Bromwich, Birmingham, late July, 1962_  
Carl was asleep, had crashed as soon as they'd got home. Ace and Bev were still awake, and he gazed in wonder at Bev as he tried to take in what he'd just told him. He hadn't expected they would become such close friends so quickly, but he liked him, and he trusted him, and they talked alone whenever they could. Ace kept badgering him to join their band instead, but Bev wasn't quite willing to push another drummer out of a gig just so they could see each other more often. Sure, it meant they had to meet up between gigs, but it was better than nothing. Bev felt it made the time they did spend together much more precious. Every second counted.

"I don't believe you. It's impossible. No way is that possible," Ace said.

"I gotta admit, we did get lucky. Right doctor at the right time, but yeah, it's possible. Been taking it since I was thirteen. You know there's a reason I'm telling you this, don't you?" Bev said, trying not to agitate him too much.

Ace fell silent, unsure what to do. He did know why Bev was telling him that. How he had known was incomprehensible. Could he have read his mind? How else could he have known? And if he knew, maybe others had figured it out too. Had he pushed his luck too far? Did everyone know he didn't have a dick? Unable to stop the spiralling thoughts, he curled into himself, unsure what he was supposed to do with this knowledge.

"No. It's impossible. I swear, I thought I was the only one. How did-? I thought I was the only one," Ace murmured, still unable to accept it.

Bev brought him into a gentle hug; Ace still wasn't entirely comfortable with people touching him, but he didn't pull away. "No, you're not the only one, not anymore. I was so surprised I noticed you at all. I thought I'd misread things, that I was just seeing things that weren't there, but I was right. I found another boy like me."

Ace tried to stop his tears, but it wasn't going to happen. He pulled away, needing some space to breathe. His chest felt tight, and he had to force himself to breathe deeply. All his unhappiness, all the struggles he'd been through to fight for his identity, it was all washed away with a wave of relief. Not being the only one, not being the only freak in the world, brought him more comfort than he could ever have known. Finally, he had someone else who shared his experiences. He could talk to Bev about things he'd only ever told himself. He was grateful for everything he'd been given, and to see how much hormones alone had changed Bev's appearance, it gave him hope that one day, when he was old enough, he'd have that too. It was the first sign of hope he'd ever had that things would get better. Maybe he would live to be twenty one, after all.

Bev offered a hug, but Ace declined, and sat there in tears, overwhelmed and hopeful. Bev sat close, a hand touching his hand, whispering apologies for upsetting him. Ace wanted to speak, to talk to the only other person he knew who was like him, but the words just wouldn't come out. Instead, he took Bev's hand in his, accepting the connection for what it was, knowing that treatment was possible, and that it worked. Maybe Bev could help him get the help he needed, so he wouldn't have to wait so long. Maybe Bev would help him stay alive, when nothing else would.  


 


	5. New Life

_Old Hill, Staffordshire, July 5th, 1963_  
In many ways, Bev felt this particular gig was a bit of a write-off. Playing second fiddle to the Beatles was exciting enough, but Bev knew none of the girls in the room were there to see them. They could've been anyone, and holding the fort for impatient fans was hardly his idea of a good time. He could hear them screaming backstage, and while it wasn't a new experience, it was still daunting to be opening for the Beatles. The sheer difference in the noise level was certainly new, but he tried not to let it get to him. To be honest, he was surprised he had a gig at all, given he'd almost entirely written off his chances to be in a top band a couple of years ago after breaking both his wrists in a year. But they'd healed well, eventually, and he was thankful he was young enough to get back into it without doing himself too much damage. He did like to play hard and loud, and his wrists needed to stand up to that, and so far, he'd had no problems.

He'd ended up in Denny Laine's band almost by accident. They'd run into each other at the Cedar Club, where Bev hadn't been looking for a band. His right wrist had still been in plaster, and Denny had been disappointed, but sympathetic, and Bev laughed when he joked about wanting a proper drummer like Bev in the band. Bev hadn't thought anything else would come of it, but after six months without a band, and his wrists back to their best, he decided to take a chance when Denny Laine came looking for a drummer. It was the chance he needed, and Denny Laine and the Diplomats had become one of the most popular groups around town. He'd never been so busy with gigs, playing almost every night. But it had paid off, and things were finally going somewhere. Which was how he found himself about to play a half-hour set before the Beatles.

Dave Lacy and the Corvettes were on stage already, and Bev watched from the wings, trying to gauge just how hostile the crowd might be to a group that wasn't the Beatles. It was hard to hear much else apart from the screaming, which at least gave Bev the reassurance that if they bodged up the set, at least most people wouldn't even be aware of it. He would still play his best, of course, because Heaven forbid he shouldn't put on a good show, and the rest of the band were relying on him to keep them in time. He'd need to play loud so they could keep their timing, if they didn't quieten down, which he didn't think they would. At least the crowd weren't hostile. They were popular enough for that to work in their favour, and perhaps it might make it a more enjoyable evening because of it.

"Nervous, hey?"

Bev turned to find Denny beside him. "A bit, maybe. Nothing I can't handle, though. When are we on?"

"Ten minutes, I think, unless they get stuck out there a bit longer. I hope you're ready," Denny said.

Bev nodded. "Oh, yeah, just taking in the crowd for a bit."

"C'mon, I want us to go over the set one last time, just so we're all clear before we head out into that din," Denny said, gesturing for him to follow.

"Yes, sir," Bev said, leaving the crowd behind.

When it was time for the Diplomats to take the stage, Bev was nervous, but everything was drowned out by the screaming girls. It wasn't as if he hadn't played for crowds like this before; it came with being one of the most popular local bands around. Screaming girls were just part of the business. But it did seem rather more intense than he was used to, and it did pump him up, wanting to make sure they did a good show. All he could do was his best, and hope he didn't miss his cue.

Bev lost himself in the performance. There wasn't much else to focus on but what he was meant to be playing, and being on stage always felt good. The crowd were good to them, and it lifted the atmosphere. They were only meant to play for half an hour, and that would've been fine in itself, but as they were about to finish, they were told to keep playing, and kept going, playing for time until the Beatles arrived from their first gig halfway across town.

Between songs, Bev shot a glance to the wings, just to see if they needed to stop. There was another surge of nerves when he saw the Beatles watching them from backstage. He hoped they were playing well, but it was hard to tell. At least they didn't look like they hated their performance. The extra scrutiny didn't help, but Bev pushed through like a professional, refusing to let it get to him. He wasn't there to fall to pieces; he was there to play, and he let himself get lost in the songs again, letting the music and the energy of the crowd take over. He was sure that was the only reason he got through their version of 'Take Five' without messing up his timing, which he felt quite proud of once they got backstage. He could finally relax, now that the gig was over.

And he would've relaxed, except he found Paul McCartney walking over to him, and he shivered, suddenly nervous all over again. Bev was hardly going to walk away from him if he wanted to talk, but it was Paul fucking McCartney, and he couldn't think of a single thing to say to him that wouldn't sound daft. Paul offered a friendly smile, and Bev smiled back; at least the night would end on a good note, if it involved meeting a Beatle.

"Ay, that was a great, that drum solo you played in 5/4 time. There's no way our drummer could do that!" Paul said, clapping him round the shoulders.

Bev wasn't quite sure what he said afterwards. All he really remembered was saying thanks, and muttered something about practicing it a lot because it was tricky, and then Paul was gone, and Bev was left feeling elated, and a little dazed. It wasn't a great leap to be better than Ringo, Bev felt, but to be told that by Paul, of all people, made it feel much more significant than he felt it deserved to be. He would still brag about it any chance he got, of course, because that was not the sort of thing you kept to yourself. He wasn't sure he stopped smiling even when he finally climbed into bed hours later, grinning at the ceiling in the darkness, his fingers tapping out that solo, or what he could remember of it, just to remind himself that had actually happened.

* * *

_Birmingham, June, 1964_  
It was hard to know where exactly it had all gone wrong, but the highs of 1963 had given way to apathy in 1964. For the first time since high school, Bev found himself without a band, and for once, he didn't care. It wasn't that the Diplomats had eaten themselves apart, but record deals, and differing ambitions, had made the decision for him, and Bev found himself working a day job once more, disillusioned with the whole business.

He'd moved up from selling carpets, and found a job selling posh furniture to middle class people. It wasn't much better than selling carpet, but at least there was a little more variety. There wasn't any Jasper to keep him company, though, and the hours were terrible. Working a normal nine to five day all over again wasn't something he enjoyed, but it was his lot for now, until he could find himself a better job that didn't piss him off so much. He was sure the only reason he stayed was because the pay was good, and it was better than sitting at home doing nothing. He took the opportunity to save what money he could spare, just because he could, so he wouldn't find himself short when he needed to get his shots.

Transition was not quite as interesting as it had been when he was younger. He was at a stage now where they just wanted to maintain his testosterone levels, and most of the physical changes were over with now. There wasn't much left to do except decide if he wanted a hysterectomy at some point, though he wouldn't be surprised if they forced that upon him whether he wanted it or not when he got old enough. He felt his doctors had weird ideas about his desire to bear children, given they were willing to let him be a man, but not let him lose his uterus, in case he woke up one morning and wanted kids. He wasn't that wedded to it, if he was honest, and he wouldn't mind not having to worry about accidentally getting pregnant, but it was the principle of the thing. He felt it really ought to be his choice to sterilise himself, but he wasn't sure he'd get that choice. At least it took his mind off the band.

And while he was back to working a day job again, it wasn't because he didn't want to be in another band, either. As dull as it could get, he was still tired from all the infighting, and wasn't sure he was ready to submit himself to that all over again in a new band. It was easier when it was just playing gigs. Everything was easier then. All he had to worry about was getting there on time, and not messing up. It was simple. But everything had got complicated, and messy, and allegiances had been stretched to their very limit. He hadn't spoken to any of his former bandmates since they'd all broken up, not that he particularly wanted to. He wouldn't know what to say if he did see them again, and was happy enough to let it go. No, he was better off without that, for now, until he felt less bitter about it than he did at that moment. That was exactly how he felt until Carl turned up one afternoon, looking for him.

"So this is where you're working now. I did wonder why I hadn't seen you at the auditions," Carl said.

"It's a job, what of it?" Bev struggled to care. He did like Carl, and they were old friends, but he hadn't been paying attention to the music scene for months. Hadn't gone to Alex's, hadn't even gone to many gigs. He hadn't cared enough to pay attention to it, not when it was just going to end up in a big mess. He felt it better to stay out of it, particularly when people knew his face, and let others tear each other to pieces instead. It wasn't his problem anymore.

"I didn't peg you for the kind of man who'd leave it all behind. You're one of the best drummers in town. Why would I put up with a second-rate drummer if I could have you?" Carl said.

"I didn't know you were looking. I'm sure you've heard all about what happened, anyway. You can understand why I wouldn't want to get back into all that again, can't you? But, I don't know, you might convince me to come back, if you ask nicely," Bev said.

"Yeah, we heard, alright. Given some of the shit that's being passed off as gossip now, I don't blame you for staying out of it, though. But you know me. It won't be like that with us." Carl leaned against the counter. "Would you do it for Ace, if you won't do it for me? He misses you, you know. He asked me why you hadn't auditioned, and asked me to chase you up. C'mon, you don't really want to be working here for the rest of your life, do you?"

Bev smiled. He hadn't seen Ace for months. They'd remained close over the past couple of years, but it had always been hard to catch up as regularly as they'd have liked because of different schedules. Since he'd stepped back from it all, he hadn't seen Ace at all. Perhaps that was a mistake. It wasn't like he hated him. He could've kept up with that friendship, at the very least, given how much in common they had. Ace had often asked him to join their band, but he'd never been in a position to take him up on it. Perhaps now he might have a chance.

"Ace misses me, hey? Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to play with you, then. Maybe I ought to come show all those upstarts how to play," Bev said, feeling a small hint of pride come back.

"Look, no guarantees, of course, but I'd hate to lose you to this shit if I could have you in my band instead," Carl said. "We're having one last audition session next Saturday, 2pm, at the Cedar Club. Maybe I'll see you there? It'd be a shame if you missed out. You'd audition for me, wouldn't you?"

Bev needed little time to think about it. "Alright, alright, I'll come play for you. For Ace, since he asked so nicely. At least I don't think you'd fuck me around."

"Good man. I'll see you Saturday, then," Carl said.

Bev watched him go, slightly annoyed he'd been talked into it, but not hating it as much as he felt he might've if it had been anyone else. He hadn't seen Carl or Ace for a while now. He had needed a break from the music scene, and not just because he was working, and late nights left him too tired to work if he wasn't careful. Maybe it was time to go back, then, and see if things worked out better this time.

* * *

_Hamburg, Germany, July 1964_  
Bev had to admit he hadn't expected to get recruited into Carl's band, though, because he was sure there were better drummers than him out there, but once he spent some time with them, he knew it was going to be alright. Ace was pleased to have him around, and it served to deepen their relationship further. Ace knew he'd need that as no sooner had Bev joined than they were flying off to Germany to play the Star-Club for a month, and Ace was nervous about being away for so long, with only Bev and Carl for support. In many ways, it wasn't that far away, but it was a foreign country, and everything felt strange and unfamiliar.

The club they were playing in was one of the best, and being asked to play every day for a month was good money, and good exposure, even if it would feel like the hardest job in the world by the time they were done. It certainly wasn't an opportunity to be passed up, either. It was a chance to play to audiences outside of the UK, and begin to make a mark on the music world in a way that wasn't possible before. That, and the exchange rate, were the only things that made the long hours and lack of sleep worth it.

In many ways, the constant cycle of work and sleep meant Ace was too tired to panic about anything to any great degree. Concentrating on playing for several hours a night, and not messing up, was enough to worry about. Bev still kept an eye on him, though, because the last thing he wanted was for him to collapse under the strain, and end up worse off than when he'd arrived. Bev watched him sneak off for a smoke whenever he could. Sometimes, he went with him, just to keep him company. Ace wasn't always good with company, particularly given the lack of safe places that didn't feel claustrophobic at the club. Sometimes, he went out into the back alley with Carl, just for some fresh air. He just needed to get outside and away, to find the silence he needed to keep himself sane.

They were halfway through their second week, and Ace was agitated. He hadn't been sleeping well, and Bev suspected there had been a few nights when he hadn't slept at all. Ace had disappeared out the back after their 5th set of the night, and Bev had followed, just to make sure he was alright. He found Ace lighting up, skulking out the back in the shadows. The cool air was a welcome change from the stuffy atmosphere of the club, and Bev appreciated it. Ace saw him, then, but didn't indicate he wanted him to leave. Bev approached him, keeping a little distance between them in case Ace needed the space.

"Needed a breather, hey?" Bev said.

"Yeah," Ace nodded. He took a drag, and the cigarette smoke drifted off into the air. "It's not - I just sometimes need to be away from all the people, y'know? Gets too overwhelming."

"Yeah, I know. Want me to give you five, then? Just wanted to make sure you were alright," Bev said.

Ace shrugged. "Nah, you can stay, yer alright. It's so weird playing for them, though. Like, it's not like the gigs back home. Playing for so long is just hard work, and it never feels like they really appreciate us. But maybe I'm just bad at reading them, I dunno. Charlie sometimes says I'm too hard on meself, but I dunno."

"All gigs are work, mate, but I know what you mean. It's not personal. But at least the money's good, and it's at least forcing us to get better at what we do. Even you're better now than you were when we arrived a couple of weeks ago," Bev said.

Ace agreed. "Yeah, there is that, yeah. Charlie's noticed that, too. That's nice, at least. I won't miss this place when we leave, though. I feel even more ... y'know." Ace stopped, struggling to find the right words.

"Like the weird freak that doesn't fit in?" Bev suggested.

Ace smiled, and nodded. "Yeah, that."

"Yeah, I know that feeling, too. It's not like no one's been nice to us, but it is alienating. At least you're not here on your own," Bev said.

"I'd never go anywhere like this on me own. That'd be a bad idea. Too far from safety, y'know?" Ace said. "Mind if I share with you tonight once we get back? I'd like some company, I think. Just - being with someone else, just for a while. Someone I know, yeah?"

"Sure, if you want. You know you don't need to ask me about that, anyway. I'm happy to share if you ever need it. It can get tough and lonely for people like us, and I don't want you to feel like you're alone," Bev said.

Ace nodded, but said nothing. Bev watched him, seeing his nervousness come to the fore again in the slight quiver of his fingers. He could understand how hard it was for Ace to get used to performing, let alone doing so in a foreign country, when it meant putting yourself in a position to be utterly scrutinised. Appearance mattered, and it added another layer of anxiety to everything that Bev was sure Ace didn't really need. Still, he seemed to be taking it better than he thought he might. He'd come a long way since they'd first met a couple of years ago, and Bev was pleased about that. And as long as they were playing in a band together, Bev could support him, and help him get used to the life they'd both chosen to live.

* * *

Back at the flat, the sky was still dark as Bev and Ace clambered into bed. It was just after half past twelve. They could hear the rest of the band through the walls; someone was in the kitchen, another having a shower, the last of them pacing the corridor outside their bedrooms. Bev had undressed, not wanting to sleep in sweaty stage clothes. Ace was more reticent, but he did kick off his shoes and jacket, and slip into bed beside him, as they listened to the noise in the house.

"I think that was a good night, don't you? We had a good crowd, for once," Bev said, keeping his voice soft.

"Hmm, I guess. At least it picked up after that 5th set. I was sure the night was going to go badly before then. No one was interested," Ace said.

"You need to learn to read the crowd better. They weren't that bad. They were that bad the first night we played, but they're getting to know us now, and we're starting to get in people who want to come and see us. We're not unknown anymore," Bev said. "And this is a good club to play in. Almost everyone comes here eventually. There are worse places to play bad gigs than here."

Ace did concede his point. "That's true, I guess. I never thought about it like that. I'm not good with people, not really. Crowds scare me sometimes."

"Yeah, I know. Sometimes, they scare me too. They can get really overwhelming, particularly when they try to grab you. I mean, I understand why they behave that way, but it'd be nice if they calmed down every now and then. I bet you really don't like the touching, do you?" Bev said.

Ace shook his head. "Hate it, yeah. They pull my hair, man, it's awful. I don't want to alienate them, cos we need them, but sometimes I do think about telling them to back off."

"You certainly never look like you're rattled by it, though, if that helps," Bev said.

"Well, they're just excited, and they like me. It's not like they're pulling my hair and screaming obscenities at me as they try to bash me up. Different vibe. I can cope with that better because it's different. It's still overwhelming, but I've learnt to cope. I mean, you have to, don't you?, if you want this kind of life. And this is all I've got going for me. Without this, I've got nothing. It's better than being surrounded by people who hate you," Ace said.

"That's true. That is definitely a good thing. I've had my fair share of bad crowds. It's not so bad when they like you. It can lift you up, rather than beat you down, y'know?" Bev said.

"I guess, yeah. I think I've felt that sometimes. Weird," Ace said.

Bev smiled. "Yeah, it is a bit weird. All these strangers you've never seen before seem to love you and want you and care about you. It's very weird. I don't always understand why they care that much, but I'm not going to stop them. This beats a proper job, hands down."

Ace shifted a little, and settled down beside Bev, allowing himself to be close to him. Bev shifted around him, and brought an arm gently around his shoulders. Ace leant into his touch, turning towards him a little, so he could rest his head on his shoulder. It wasn't much intimacy, but it was about as much as Ace could usually tolerate. They settled into a comfortable silence, listening to the sounds in the rest of the flat quieten down as the rest of the band headed to bed. Then all that could be heard was the traffic, and the soft sounds of the night. Bev felt Ace relax a little as the silence returned.

"'m glad yer here, Bev," Ace murmured.

"It's alright, I'm not going anywhere," Bev replied.

Ace smiled and reached for his hand, their fingers twined together. There was something about just being still that brought all Bev's tiredness to the forefront of his mind. He was fine when he was still up and moving, but once he got in bed and lay down, everything hurt, and sleep soon followed. He was barely aware of the soft kiss Ace offered, kissing him softly on the cheek, as he drifted off.

* * *

Bev left Ace to sleep when he woke the next day, figuring he probably needed it. He found the rest of the flat empty except for Carl, who was making coffee. Bev went over to him, leaning against one of the kitchen benches.

"Is it still morning?" Bev asked, not sure what he wanted the answer to be.

Carl checked his watch. "Barely. Ace slept in with you last night, then? He wasn't in his room, so I wanted to check."

Bev nodded. "Yeah, he needed the company. I would've told you, but I didn't want to with the others hanging around. They might assume things I don't think we want them assuming."

Carl poured them both a mug of coffee and handed one to Bev. "Hmm, good point. At least he was with you. I know it might not seem like it, but he's been much better since you've joined the band. He's settled down a lot."

"Well, he is a good friend, and at least I can be there for him in a way I couldn't before," Bev said.

Carl walked back to the lounge, and Bev followed, taking a seat on the sofa beside him. "He told me, about what he is, in case you're not mentioning it because you think I don't know."

Bev was surprised, and wasn't sure if they were thinking of the same thing. "What do you mean?"

"He was a girl, like everyone forgets you used to be," Carl said. "I haven't told anyone else, of course, but I know, so you don't need to hide that from me."

"When did you ever find out about me?" Bev asked, quite certain he'd never told him.

"Remember Tony? Used to live on your street once upon a go? He's a cousin of mine. There was a point when he began talking about you as a boy, rather than as a girl, and that's when it clicked for me," Carl said. "I never asked him to tell me, but he really did like having you for a friend before he moved away."

"Oh, yeah, Tony. I forgot about him. He moved away years ago. I'd almost forgotten about that. I didn't know he was your cousin, though, or that he'd even talk to you about me. It is true, though. But I was much happier as a girl than Ace ever was, and I got treatment at the right time. Maybe that made all the difference. I wish I could help him, though. I know he's hiding a lot from me because he doesn't want me to worry," Bev said.

"Yeah, I know. I don't expect him to tell me that stuff, because he's got you, but I try not to smother him and let him at least try to take care of himself. He doesn't need other people telling him how to live his life," Carl said.

"I almost don't want him to get treatment, because I'm sure he'll hate being part of a system that forces him to do things for transition just to make them happy. And I worry they'll think his mental state isn't stable enough, and deny him treatment, which will just make things worse. But what can I really do except be there for him and try to help him hang on? Maybe if we take care of him, we won't find him dead in a hotel room because it got too much for him," Bev said, not wanting to think about that possibility, but felt he had to voice it anyway.

"Why do you think I don't let him drink? I won't argue he's more traumatised than my dad, but drink destroyed him, and I'm sure it'll destroy Ace too if he's not careful," Carl said.

"Do you think it'll be enough, then?" Bev said.

Carl looked circumspect. "I hope so. I'm not ready to lose him just yet."

Bev gazed into his coffee and made the same wish. Ace had told him enough of what he'd gone through, particularly as a kid, to know he was vulnerable. Ace, to his credit, did seem better than when they'd first met. But whether that would be enough, Bev didn't know.

* * *

_Castle Bromwich, Birmingham, September 1964_  
Ace didn't want to hear it. He wasn't sure exactly what had triggered the distress again, but it didn't matter. He was upset and couldn't shake himself from the thought that he'd never become a real boy no matter how many hormones he injected into his body. He'd never look right. He'd never have a proper penis. He was a freak of a girl that no one could possibly love.

Perhaps it was a reaction to being free from school at last, and moving in with Carl, just so it was easier to practice, and so he wouldn't have to stop worrying he'd wake Mary up as he came home at all hours of the night. Maybe it was still recovering from spending most of July playing nonstop gigs in Germany, where he never felt he actually slept well at all, and all he cared about was the money he got in compensation. Back in Birmingham, they were playing almost every night all over the place. Since he'd finished school, and didn't need to worry about when he could play, he stayed out as late as he liked. He did miss Mary, but he tried to see her as often as he could, just so he didn't feel like he was totally alone. She offered a quiet place if he needed it, where he could go home and stay with her if the world felt too threatening.

Bev had also joined the band earlier in the year, which Ace was thankful for. But with just the band to occupy his time, he was left with more time at his hands than he'd have preferred. Listlessness had come at a cost, and the more time he had to think, the worse his mind got. Knowing what was possible, and knowing it was out of reach for him, had hurt a lot. Bev had tried to get his doctor to see him, but he wasn't taking on new patients at the time, and couldn't help. All Ace wanted was what Bev had, to be able to start changing his body so it didn't look like a girl anymore. He wanted to stop bleeding, and get rid of his breasts, but that was proving impossible. Maybe he'd never get help. It wasn't like he wasn't used to rejection. It still hurt, though, that he was so close to accessing the treatment he needed, and it was being denied. He wouldn't hide the fact that he'd thought about killing himself for at least a week after Bev had told him the bad news. His mood hadn't really improved since then.

Bev tried to comfort him, and Carl held him gently, but it didn't help. Ace had been sleeping when Bev had arrived, but Carl suggested they go out for a while and let him rest. After a quiet drink down at the pub, they'd come back to pick Ace up for the gig that night, and they'd found him in the bathroom naked, scratching at his chest. The wounds weren't deep, but some had broken the skin, and the marks left behind were red and angry. He wouldn't talk to them, couldn't bring himself to voice his distress.

"I don't think we're playing tonight, not with him the way he is," Bev said, noticing the small pool of blood on the ground.

"But we've already missed two this week. I said we'd make it this time. We might lose our spot if we don't play tonight, and I'd rather not lose the extra income," Carl said.

"I can't go out there. I can't. They'll know how horrible I look," Ace murmured, burying his head in his arms.

Bev knelt down beside him. "When have they said that? Everyone loves you. I promise it'll be fine."

Ace shook his head. "No, I'm not going. I can't face them. Everything's wrong. I can't leave. It'll never be alright."

"Ace, we need you. I can't play bass out there. I promised I wouldn't do that again since we have you now. You're much better than me anyway," Carl said.

"You'll enjoy it once you're out there, you know. You always do. Isn't this what you've always wanted to do? Why let this spoil it?" Bev said.

"I can't. I just can't. It hurts too much right now. I just - not now. I can't do it right now. I'm still bleeding, Bev. When can I stop bleeding? When will it stop? I feel so horrible and ugly. I don't want to touch myself down there again, but I have to and I can't do it anymore," Ace said.

They held him gently, and Ace leant against Carl's shoulder as he cried. He hated that he was so useless. Every now and then he just got too distressed about his body. It just got too much. It was too hideous to look at. Bev tried to convince him it would go away with time, particularly once he started transitioning, but he didn't always believe him. He scratched at his chest again, and Bev didn't have the heart to stop him.

"Why was I born like this? Why was I born wrong? It's not fair. All I want is to be normal, like you, but I can't. It hurts so much. I don't know if I can last. I don't know if I can be strong enough. I just want to be a proper boy. Why can't I have that?"

Bev hugged him gently and pressed a kiss to his head. He understood what he was going through. "You'll get there, I promise. One day, you'll be the manliest man alive and no one will ever doubt you. I know it's hard right now, I've been there myself, but it does get better. I promise you, it does get better. The pain goes away, and everything gets better. Just - trust me. Listen to me. I've been through all this before and come out the other side. I know you can do it too. Come out with us tonight. We need you there. Prove to all those bastards that you're better than them."

Ace tried to believe him, but he couldn't believe it got any better than that. He'd had periods of distress before now, but they'd never been as bad as this one. He'd been showering, and he'd stood there, seeing his reflection in the mirror, and he wanted to cry. Nothing looked right. He'd just got another period too, and the extra pain didn't help. His periods weren't that bad anymore, because he had grudgingly learnt to cope with them, but the fact he still got them was more than enough to trigger his distress. He'd been sick again, and he tried to fight off the cramps as blood began to drip onto the tiles.

He remembered wandering around the house, looking for a way to make the pain stop, but as he reached for a kitchen knife, he recoiled in panic. He didn't trust himself with it. He didn't want to die, he just wanted the pain to stop. He didn't want to die. His dad would be so disappointed. He had retreated to the bathroom and sunk to the floor, left with nothing but his hands. He clawed at his breasts, all he felt capable of doing. It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as he did inside. His lower back ached like buggery and he ignored the blood dripping out from between his legs as the pain worsened.

He was sick of being careful about what clothes he could wear. He couldn't show his chest because it was wrong. It wouldn't be allowed. People would find out the truth about him. They'd section him and put him in dresses again. It made him feel ashamed and guilty that he couldn't reveal his chest. He hated lying about it, and the bandages around his chest were a constant irritation. He'd never stopped scratching at them either, hating that he had to wear them still.

He stopped trying to fake a bulge in his trousers though. He couldn't find anything that he liked that didn't make him feel uncomfortable. Bev had offered some prosthetics he sometimes used, but it wasn't enough. It was always painfully obvious to him that it was fake, and not part of his body. Everything was wrong, and nothing was right, and he was still an ugly hideous girl who wore suits and pretended to be a boy. Everything about his life was a fraud.

He wanted to rage and cry out and scream at the world to fix him, but he didn't have the energy. Bev and Carl held him firmly, refusing to leave him alone. Even when he was at his worst, they refused to leave him, and he had no idea why they kept staying with him. He wasn't worth their attention. He fought a little more, trying to scratch at his breasts again, but this time they held his hands, keeping them away from his chest. He wasn't going to win this one and gave in.

"Just let me die. I can't bear this torment anymore," Ace whispered.

"You don't want to die, not really. Come on, we've got a show to do, remember? We'll tidy you up and get going. The fans are clamouring to see you and I'd hate to disappoint them," Carl said.

Ace nodded in submission. He did like being on stage, he really did, and he hoped the show would be a nice distraction and push the distress out of his head for a while. They lifted him to his feet and sat him on the toilet seat. Ace wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to calm himself down.

"Give us a minute, will you? Go get something for the wounds. I'll deal with the rest," Bev said.

Carl understood his meaning and left them alone. Ace sat there crying, his stomach aching. Bev cleaned up the blood and wished there was something he could do for him to take the pain away. The few periods he'd had hadn't been very bad before the testosterone kicked in and stopped them completely, but he had been much younger than Ace when he'd started. He was thankful for small mercies.

"Do you need me to help with this? Or can you do it? What do you use anyway?" Bev said.

"In the cupboard on the left. Cos they're invisible. Can't see 'em then. I can forget for a while," Ace said, indicating which cupboard the tampons were in. He couldn't bring himself to say the word though. "Like, I tried pads too, but it made me sick. Can't bear looking at that shit. It's too big and uncomfortable. Don't even like talking about it too much either. It's gross and horrible."

Bev found the box of tampons and handed them over. Ace just stared at them, resenting the fact he still needed them.

"Just - look away. I don't want you seeing this. It's bad enough I gotta do it," Ace said as he took one out.

"Sure, whatever you need," Bev said and turned around.

It was a necessary evil, and it was the only time Ace ever touched himself down there. It was incredibly uncomfortable and it made him sick to have to do it, but it was that, or wear some hideous belt thing that made it more than obvious that he was bleeding. He cleaned as much blood away as he could to avoid getting any on his hand. Taking a deep breath to steady his emotions, he inserted it, refusing to look down as he did so. He obsessively washed his hands afterwards, not wanting any trace to remain on his skin.

Bev glanced over his shoulder. "You done then?"

Ace nodded. "Should think about something to wear tonight, if I'm going to play."

Bev wrapped an arm around his shoulders and they headed back to Carl's room. Ace kept a collection of stage clothes there for convenience. Bev leant against the doorframe as Ace dressed, picking out a nice grey suit. He lay it on the bed as he pulled on some underwear.

"You still don't pack then? I didn't notice that," Bev commented.

Ace glanced at him. "What have I even got to pack with? I mean, I tried yours, but it's just too uncomfortable. I can't pretend it's part of me. I think you're the only one who's noticed so far though."

"That's because I know what to look for. You look fine though. I doubt anyone would notice," Bev said.

"Are you sure? I always worry they can tell I'm faking it," Ace said.

"Nah, you'll be alright. If they read you as male, they'll assume your bulge is real. They won't question it. Trust me. I've been there. Assumptions can work in your favour sometimes," Bev said.

"I still wish I had something real that worked for me. I'm too scared to show anyone what I use. Like, it's just socks and tape, when I feel I can't go without something down there. Public bathrooms are terrifying. I can't even take a piss standing up because they'll notice it's all wrong down there. I don't want to get beaten up. I know it's not that important, that it doesn't define what you are, but I'll always feel inadequate until I've got a proper one. One that looks real. But I don't know if that'll ever happen. Do they even exist? Who'd let me have one of them even if they did? At this rate, I'll never bloody get to transition at all, not if they all think I'm mad," Ace said, trying not to sound too despondent.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. They're not bad, though. At least they're beginning to get better. You should've seen them a decade ago," Bev said.

Ace wasn't sure he wanted to see them. He pulled his trousers on and straightened. He glanced at his reflection and couldn't help thinking what a fucking mess he'd become. "Does it look alright? I don't really need to pack down there, do I? Only sometimes they're a bit too tight and it's too obvious so I do it. But I don't always like it."

Bev took in his appearance. "Could go either way with those, but maybe pack anyway, just in case. They don't quite look right. Bit too hollow, you know? I mean, I doubt anyone will notice anyway, but you can never be too sure."

"Bollocks."

Ace unenthusiastically searched for some of the packers he used. They were mostly things he'd made himself, unable to access anything that looked right. All they were good for was creating a bulge. It was half the reason he never had sex with anyone; he was too afraid of being caught out pretending to be a boy. He was also half convinced people could tell it wasn't a proper bulge, which was why he didn't wear them very often. He dragged a box out from under his bed, reluctant to look at them.

"I really hate these things. Go on, which one'll do?" Ace said, offering him the box.

Bev shrugged. He didn't mind using them, and while they weren't the greatest things ever, he didn't care. He'd got used to concealing them when using bathrooms so no one ever twigged, and those who he had come out to, knew he'd been a girl before, so it never bothered them. Bev felt he'd picked the best cover story ever to get away with not having the right genitals.

Ace picked a small one out, made from black socks wrapped in plastic. It wasn't designed for anything other than giving the illusion of a penis. "I don't really feel up to wearing a cock tonight. They never quite feel right on stage. I move around too much, I think. But if you think I should pack, then I guess I'd better. I wish I had a proper cock, though. Then I wouldn't need to do this."

Bev understood what he meant. At least he spent most of the time sitting down, hiding up the back where no one was likely to notice. The only time it was ever visible was when he was goaded up to sing. "It's up to you. If you don't feel up to it, you don't have to wear one."

"No, you're right, I probably should. I shouldn't be so picky about them. It's better than nothing, right?" Undoing his trousers, Ace slipped the packer inside his underpants, checking to see if the bulge looked alright. "It's not too big, is it? I always worry they look too big. I'm not a big guy like you. I don't want it to look weird."

"Nah, looks fine to me," Bev said.

Ace glanced at himself in the mirror, and adjusted himself a little until it looked right. Knowing he couldn't stay there adjusting it all night, he left it once he was sure it was alright. Passable, at any rate. "That everything then? I suppose I'd better get all this cleaned up now, hey?" he said, gesturing at the wounds on his chest.

"This way, sir," Bev said, ushering him out into the hall.

They found Carl in the lounge, and Ace sat in an armchair as Carl cleaned him up, dressing the worst of the wounds. They stung with pain again, and Ace felt terrible he'd even done it. He'd have to look at the marks until they went away. He was just glad he hadn't used anything more serious than his fingers. That could've ended badly, and he might not be going off to a gig tonight if he had.

"I hope you're not going to do this again any time soon. You could've done some real damage if we hadn't come round," Carl said, though he wasn't as angry as he sounded.

"Don't worry, I don't think I'll try that again. I nearly went for a knife, you know. Scared meself, I did," Ace said.

"You going to go talk to someone? Because this is the worst it got, and maybe it won't mean you can transition, at least it might help with this?" Bev said.

"Don't worry, I'm way ahead of you, Bev. I'll give Mary a call tomorrow, let her know what happened, and maybe we can go find someone to talk to," Ace said. "Cos this is the worst it's been, y'know?"

"If you're ever feeling like that again, you know you can come over any time. I'll take care of you till you're feeling better," Bev said.

"Thanks. Y'know, I don't know if I ever mentioned how much I appreciate that, havin' somewhere to go if it gets too much. But I do. It's nice, and yer mum's nice too," Ace said.

"She's very fond of you, that's for sure," Bev said.

With the wounds dressed, Ace could finish dressing. He still felt a little sore, but he'd taken some paracetamol and hoped it would dull the pain enough to get him through the gig. Taking a moment to settle his emotions one last time, they packed the van and headed off for the gig.

* * *

_Coventry, October 1964_  
After the meltdown he'd had in September, he'd agreed with Mary that it was time to go look for help again. They'd called around a few more places, and even called Bev's doctor again, but the only doctor that was willing to give them an appointment was a therapist in Coventry. Ace wasn't sure this would be any better than the last one, but he had to keep hoping. They caught the train down and arrived just after 2pm. The address they'd been given had led them to what appeared to be a pretty standard looking psychiatrist's office. Ace felt he'd seen too many of these lately. He wasn't sure he liked this one, though. It felt cold, and Ace didn't feel welcome.

"Mum, I think we should go. I don't like it here," Ace murmured. He reached for her arm, glancing around at the other patients.

Mary turned to him. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Just relax."

Ace wasn't sure he could. Still, he wasn't about to run out of there and gingerly approached the front desk with Mary, hoping this one might be the place that takes him in. The receptionist offered a withering glare as she stood to address them. It didn't make Ace feel any better.

"I'm sorry, we're not currently accepting new patients," the receptionist said.

"I believe we have an appointment. I've been on the phone with Dr Lancaster, she was going to see us today. The name's Kilburn, and it's regarding my boy, Chris," Mary said.

The receptionist checked the register. "I'm sorry, there's no record of your appointment here. I'll have to ask you to leave. We're not accepting new patients at the moment."

Mary stood her ground. "I spoke to Dr Lancaster on Monday, and discussed our situation, and she told us to come down today. I'm sure if you asked her, you'd know I'm not lying. We've come all the way from Birmingham to see her."

The receptionist still looked sceptical, but nevertheless went to speak to her boss to make sure. She returned moments later with Dr Lancaster, who greeted them much more warmly.

"It's Mary, isn't it? Mary Kilburn? Yes, I remember our conversation. Come right through, if you please," Dr Lancaster said, gesturing them into her office.

Ace didn't immediately like her, but she seemed more open to them than he'd thought she'd be. She sat them down and addressed Ace.

"So, your mother tells me you're transsexual, is that correct? And you'd like to begin medically transitioning?" Dr Lancaster asked.

Ace nodded. "I guess that's the word you use for someone like me. I just want to be a boy. Can you turn me into a boy? Only I've started bleeding, and no one wants to help me, and it's so hard to live when I hate myself. Keep wanting to kill myself, and I know I need help with that, but I know it'd be better if I was a boy."

"Well, I've only ever treated one other child with transsexualism before, so it's probably not that they don't want to help, but they probably just don't know how to help you. Did Dr Turner suggest you come to see me? He tends to refer any transsexual patients to me, since I'm one of the few willing to treat them," Dr Lancaster said.

Ace looked at his mother expectantly. "I can't half remember all their names. I've seen so many doctors lately."

"It was Dr Turner, yes. He referred me to you. We've been to see many doctors over the past six years, but the ones who were willing to treat him wouldn't treat him until he was 21, and I didn't think he could cope having to wait that long, not with his depression getting so bad lately. He's been like this since he was three, and I've seen it consistently since he was six years old. I'm not his birth mother, but I adopted him back in '58 to save him from his neglectful mother. Getting him out of that house was the best thing I did for him, I think. He's been much better since then," Mary said.

Ace didn't always like Mary talking about it so plainly, because it still sometimes hurt, but maybe Dr Lancaster needed to know that to make him better. "Me old mum, she sent me to a doctor when I was twelve, she did. Sent me away to fix me, but it didn't work. I'm not a girl. Can you help me? Only I started bleeding, and I got breasts, and I don't want to be like this, I don't. Turn me into a boy before I go daft and kill myself."

"He's been a bit skittish about getting help because of what he experienced at that clinic, but I think he wants help more than he's scared of the dolls and the horrors in his mind," Mary said.

Ace withdrew at the memories. "I still don't remember much of what they did to me, 'cept I felt ill a lot, and there were these horrid dolls, and they just kept talking to me all the time. Mum - me other mum - just left me there, she did, like she didn't want me anymore."

"That sounds like some of the stories I've heard from some of my other patients. I'm sorry you were forced to go through that. It never helps. At least you seem to have a better home now, so that's good. A supportive environment does help when it comes to transitioning. This is partly why we don't normally treat younger children, because hormonal treatments can cause all sorts of problems, and some may consider you too young to be able to cope with those changes. Your mother said you're eighteen now, is that right?" Dr Lancaster said.

"Well, eighteen in December, if that counts," Ace said.

"Are you taking any medication for your depression, then?" Dr Lancaster said.

Ace shrugged. "No, not really. I did for a while when I was thirteen, but I didn't like that doctor, so we stopped going. Why'd you want to know?"

"I'm just trying to get a good gauge of your mental health, so I can work out where we need to start. It may be that we need to get a handle on your depression first before we begin hormone treatment. How had is your depression, anyway? When did your symptoms first manifest?" Dr Lancaster said.

Ace shrugged helplessly. "Been thinking dark thoughts since I was a kid. The wrong kind, y'know? Wanting to kill yourself, that sort of thing. They were always worse when I was stuck up in the attic, or after I'd been beaten. I dream about that a lot, killing myself, y'know? Wonder how I'd strangle myself, or whether I could drown in the bath. They're not normal, them thoughts, are they? I know they're not, but I'm scared. I did try some of them anti-depressants, but they just made it worse. I was better off without them. You can make the bad thoughts go away, can't you?"

"Well, that's my job, Chris. I make the bad things go away so you can live a good life. That's what I'm here for. I've never encountered anti-depressants making depressive thoughts worse, though. I might have to ask my colleagues to see if they know why they didn't work for you, and what else we might try. You might not have major depression, if they aren't working, and if that's the case, we need to find out what you do have, so we can treat you correctly," Dr Lancaster said.

"So - so you're going to help me, then? Oh, please, I need you to help me. I need someone to help me. I can't stand being in this body much longer," Ace said, encouraged by her words.

Dr Lancaster sat back and considered him. "Given your mental state, I don't think it'd be ethical to leave you alone any longer. If you're right, and your depressive thoughts will decrease with hormone treatment, then that's something I'd like to pursue. It'd be good to treat you too, and see if you differ from the other child I treated. More data is always a good thing, and children presenting with transsexualism are rare as hen's teeth. At least, they don't get to come to my office for help. I guess they have it stamped out of them, or they hide it. Or they go through the treatment you went through when you were twelve, and decide it's better to conform. I know a few adults who've hidden it their whole lives because it was safer that way. I'm currently treating a 43 year old woman who spent all her life in the army to try to be the man she knew she wasn't. But she's much happier now. I think I can make you much happier, too. I don't think anyone else would treat a child, but I don't see why you shouldn't if they present with it so consistently throughout their young lives. You're nearly eighteen now, and you clearly know what you are, and what you want, and given your history with depression, I don't want to make you wait. Your mother's right. I'm not sure you'd survive if you had to wait till you were 21. The sooner we can get treatment organised for you, the better. I'll write you a referral to the endocrinologist who treats my transsexual patients, and let him check you out. I can't say how soon you can start, but I'd be surprised if you weren't getting your first shot by the end of the year, at the latest. I'll also get you back here every week to begin with, so we can start sorting out the mess in your head. We'll see what we can do about those bad thoughts, hey?"

"Thank you - yes, that sounds great. Thank you," Ace said. He felt every fibre in his body relax at her words. Finally, he would get the help he needed. They'd turn him into a boy, and things would start to get better.

* * *

_Sparkhill, Birmingham, December 10, 1964_  
Ace was still binding, still bleeding every month. It had been three months since he'd started seeing Dr Lancaster, and while he hadn't started hormone therapy yet, she was at least helping him deal with his depression. They'd spent the time trying to work out a precise diagnosis, and while the tests and constant evaluations had been hard to deal with, at least they were getting somewhere. They hadn't quite nailed it down yet, though, because he didn't quite have enough symptoms for anything else other than depression. They had tried anti-depressants one more time, just to see if they did indeed not work for him, and after a week of the deepest depression he'd ever had, Dr Lancaster was convinced they were just making him worse, and took him off them immediately.

He'd also been to see the endocrinologist she referred him to, and he'd had blood tests to check his hormone levels in preparation for beginning hormone therapy once they'd sorted out his depression. Ace was a little agitated at having to wait while they sorted out what was wrong with him, but at least someone was trying to figure it out. It was better than being left on his own, and there was hope that he could start transitioning soon. That, more than anything, had lifted his mood, though it didn't make the dark thoughts completely go away.

Life was good, too. The band were good, especially now that Bev had joined them, and they had a regular schedule of gigs to play every week. While it did bring in some money for him, and he was learning to deal with being a fulltime musician, he was still waiting for that one big break that would stop him having to be careful with every penny he had. It wasn't just enough to be in a band, he wanted to do better than that, to be the best there was, and make a life for himself where he wouldn't have to worry about anything.

He had settled somewhat since Carl had provided a stable home for him. He still saw Mary every week, when she'd take him to therapy, and he needed that time with her every now and then to keep him grounded. Life was getting busy, and complicated, and there were more people in his life than he was used to. The more he hung out at Alex's, the more friends he made from other bands. He hadn't bothered to tell them what he was yet, but he wasn't sure he ever would. He was just glad to have people around him who liked him and cared about him. He decided he was tired of being alone, and his friends were slowly breaking down his skittishness about being touched. He wasn't totally over it, and he still hadn't been with anyone intimately yet, but he had stopped being so nervous about being around people. He was constantly surprised at his own resilience.

In spite of this, though, it didn't stop him hating his body, and the older he got, the more he wished he could change his sex. His periods had only got worse over the years, and he'd had to deal with feeling sick and having unbearable cramps that kept him in bed all day until they went away. He was constantly terrified someone would work out why he was sick every month and blow his cover. Knowing Bev had been lucky just caused him more distress. Ace felt the entire world was against him, and he was powerless to fight back. No matter how loudly he shouted, no one heard him and no one wanted to help him.

He gave no thought to Bev's invitation to come round that evening. They'd become very close, and Ace was spending more and more time there, when he wasn't at Carl's, or playing with the band. Drawn to Bev for reasons he wasn't quite able to articulate, he appreciated his company, and his support. He would almost have said he loved him, if he was able to recognise his feelings as such. It wasn't that Ace didn't love Carl either; they just had a different relationship. After that first kiss, he and Carl went no further, though they did share a bed every now and then when Ace needed the company. Carl respected his feelings and let him be, pursuing others instead. Carl had known from the moment Ace and Bev first met that he was never going to win Ace's heart.

Ace trudged through the light snow towards Bev's house. It was a rare night off for both of them, but since they'd done three shows the night before and crashed home after two in the morning, Ace wasn't complaining. Unlike Carl, he wasn't interested in heading out to the Handsworth Plaza to see if they could sneak a half hour set in. Sometimes, all he wanted to do was stay in for once, not be out every night till the early hours and get in whatever sleep he could. It did leave him more tired than he liked as Carl never let him sleep as long as he wanted to. It was beginning to snow, and Ace wanted to be inside where it was warm, not out in the cold.

Besides, Ace liked being at Bev's house. It was a nice house anyway, a nice house on a nice street, big and full of warmth, but not so much he felt out of place. Their dog Remus was quite fond of him, and Bev's mother liked making sure he was well-fed if he was around for dinner. It had become a second home, and for that, Ace was grateful.

That Bev's mother understood his situation as well was more of a blessing than Ace could ever say. She didn't call him a girl, and fussed over him every time he was over, just to make sure he was doing alright. It took a few months before Ace felt comfortable talking to her about things, but she proved to be a great support for him. While he still loved having Mary close by, having Bev's mother supporting him helped, too. He felt he had two mothers now, and both were better than his own birth mother had ever been.

Remus greeted him with a bark as he arrived, and Bev's mother opened the door to him, ushering him inside with a warm hug. The dog made the house seem noisier than it was as he circled around his feet happily. Ace reached down to scratch behind his ears in greeting.

"Bev said you were coming round. He's up in his room. Let him know dinner'll be ready soon. Got something special for you tonight," she said.

"Oh really? What's the occasion?" Ace inquired as he slipped his coat off.

She looked at him and smiled. "Bev may have mentioned it was your birthday. We wouldn't want you to go without some sort of celebration."

Her prompting reminded him of the date. Ace had almost forgotten. It had been a very long time since he'd bothered to celebrate his birthday. All it had ever really meant to him was the fact he'd managed to survive one more year. He'd never felt that was something worth celebrating. "Oh, yeah, it is, isn't it? You didn't have to go to so much trouble, though."

"It's no trouble at all. Go on, get out of here. I'll call you when it's ready," she said, gesturing up the stairs as she took his coat.

Ace thanked her and headed upstairs. He made a mental note to tell Bev off a little for telling his mother it was his birthday, though he was surprised anyone had remembered at all. It was never something he made much of a fuss about as he never had anyone to celebrate with.

He found Bev's bedroom door slightly ajar, the room looked dark, and he entered quietly in case he was napping. Bev wasn't napping, but there was still enough light for Ace to see Bev lying on his bed, towel draped lazily over his naked body, as a hand moved between his legs.

His breath caught in his throat as Ace closed the door behind him, not wanting his mother to find out what he was doing. He didn't want to disturb him, and certainly, Bev looked like he was too lost in his own fantasies to have heard him enter. Ace watched him, entranced. He'd never actually seen his naked body before, and he was astounded at how masculine he looked.

Finally, at eighteen years old, Ace felt the first surge of arousal he'd ever experienced as he stood there in the darkness watching him. There was a rush of warmth, and a sensation he didn't recognise, except that it was something he felt he couldn't ignore. He might have almost said it hurt, except it wasn't really a sensation of pain. A hand strayed between his own legs, just rubbing gently, though he was unsure he was even doing it right as he'd never touched himself down there before. He couldn't help noticing the small penis-like thing Bev was stroking with his fingers that was clearly bringing him a lot of pleasure.

Ace traced every contour of his body with his gaze, wishing he had a body just like it, imagining he was the one lying there playing with his dick. He had no feelings of discomfort as he stroked himself, amazed he was capable of arousal at all. The longer he was there, the more aroused he felt, and soon he'd unzipped his trousers as his hand slipped inside his underwear, feeling the warm wet flesh between his fingers. It took a while to work out which bit gave him pleasure when he rubbed against it, but once he found it, he kept touching it, rubbing it with his slick fingers as he felt the pleasure build up between his legs.

Ace took in everything, watching everything Bev did. There were some things he couldn't see because of the way Bev was writhing on the bed, but he didn't mind. He rather thought they were the better bits, as his imagination filled the gaps quite well. Bev seemed so at ease with his body. He ran his hands over his skin, touched his chest, made love to himself in a way Ace had never had the capability to do before. Ace wished he would one day experience that too.

Bev lay there once he was done, legs falling open as he relaxed. Ace stood there by the door, watching him, wondering when Bev would realise he wasn't alone. He didn't have to wonder for long as Bev gazed over at him and smiled, switching the bedside lamp on.

"Hey. There you are. I wondered when you were going to get here," Bev said. He sat up a little, but didn't appear ashamed by the situation.

"Er, yeah, yer mum sent me up a while ago," Ace said, trying not to blush with embarrassment as he averted his gaze.

Bev gave him a pointed look as he saw his trousers slipping down his legs. "Yeah, I noticed. Want me to finish it off for you?"

"Oh, I-I didn't mean to, I-"

Ace found he wasn't able to finish as Bev got to his feet and came over to him. Standing before him, so close to him, Ace could see his body up close and he dared to touch him, taking in everything before him. Bev had grown into a tall and handsome man, and Ace wanted him. Or perhaps wanted to be him. Perhaps both.

Bev reached down and brought him into a soft kiss, letting his lips linger a little as a hand slipped inside Ace's trousers. Ace could tell straight away that he knew what he was doing, and he melted into his embrace. Bev sucked on his neck, licking his collar bone, as he undid the buttons on his shirt one by one. Bev wanted every inch of his body to pleasure, and Ace soon found it difficult to keep standing.

There was a brief pause as Bev picked him up and lay him on his bed, and Ace let himself be undressed as Bev continued. For a moment, while Bev was touching him, Ace forgot how much he hated his body, and just lay back and let the pleasure overwhelm him. Ace could barely keep his eyes off Bev as he moved between his legs and began sucking and licking, stroking him with his fingers.

There was a moment. Ace wasn't quite sure how to describe it, but there was no time to think about it further before he climaxed hard, ripples of pleasure coursing through his body. He lay there, eyes wide open in surprise, as Bev shifted up beside him.

"That was incredible," Ace whispered.

"Happy birthday. There'll be more where that came from after dinner if you wanna stay over," Bev murmured as he pressed a kiss to his neck.

"I don't-"

Ace didn't know what else to say. Bev kissed him, a hand gently stroking the bandages binding his breasts. He hadn't wanted to remove them, even though they were uncomfortable to wear. To have that reminder that his chest was wrong, that he had breasts, wasn't something he was comfortable with. He didn't want Bev to see him like that.

"God, you're gorgeous. I've wanted to do that for a while now. I hope I didn't upset you," Bev said.

"Me? Gorgeous? Why would you want a skinny bastard like me? I'm hardly the man you are," Ace wasn't so convinced.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You'll have what I have one day. Just be patient. You'll look like a proper boy and no one will ever doubt you. Can you hang on for me? I love you and I want you and I don't want you to hate yourself anymore," Bev said.

Ace turned to look at him, searching his eyes for reassurance. "You really think I'll look like you one day? You really think so?"

"Yeah. That's kinda why I wanted to see you. I-" Bev was interrupted by his mother calling them to dinner. He grinned. "Be right down, mum!" he called back. "Come on, time for your birthday dinner."

They shared another kiss and dressed, taking a moment to clean up before heading down to dinner. The dining room was decked out with streamers, and Ace was surprised to see Carl, the rest of the band, and a few of his close friends there with him. He saw Roy there, and Trevor, and a few others he'd come to befriend over the years. Even Mary was there, standing beside Bev's mother as they sang 'Happy Birthday' to him.

"Yer a bunch of sneaky bastards, you know," Ace said, but he was secretly pleased by their efforts.

Carl clapped him over the shoulder. "You didn't think we'd forget, did you?"

"Charlie, even I forgot it was me birthday. I was hardly expecting anything, but it's nice you remembered," Ace said.

And it was nice. Bev's mother had prepared a feast for them, and they sat around the table together. Ace even got a birthday cake and a brand new bass guitar, one he'd been eyeing off for months. Ace was astonished by their generosity. The bass he'd been given by Sam six years ago just wasn't up to the task anymore, and he'd been making do with borrowed ones while he saved up enough to get a new one. Turned out he could save that money, perhaps for a new amp, as they'd gone and bought it outright for him. He wasn't sure anyone had ever bought him anything so expensive before in his life.

The party raged on well into the evening. Everyone had brought their instruments around, and they played together, giving Ace a chance to try out his new bass. Carl had been encouraging him to sing ever since they first met, once he'd discovered Ace could sing, though Ace was never sure he sounded alright. He was always afraid his voice was too high, but Carl just used it as a selling point; it was something different, and adding a higher harmony line to their songs had worked a treat. He still wasn't quite confident enough to sing on his own, even though he now had a long list of compositions at his disposal, but they seemed like such raw moments of his life that to reveal them felt like he'd be standing naked on stage for all to see. Maybe one day he'd feel less scared about that.

Ace did stay at Bev's that night. The house was quieter once everyone had gone home. Ace bid them a fond farewell before Bev led him up to bed. They talked for a while as they lay there together, and if Bev reached over and slipped a hand between his legs again, well, Ace wasn't going to complain. He'd never felt so loved in his whole life.

* * *

_Sparkhill, Birmingham, December 11, 1964_  
Ace slept till midmorning. Bev decided to let him sleep as long as he wanted. When Ace did wake, he found himself alone. Ace sat up, wondering what time it was. He was naked, his chest unbound. It was a strange way to wake up, but he did remember what he'd done the night before.

Reaching over to the bottom drawer of the bedside table, he found what he was after. It was a rubber dildo, the rope that had tied it on still hanging around it. Ace had used it last night. For the first time in his life, he had a penis, and it had felt wonderful as he'd had sex with Bev, thrusting inside him as if it were real. Getting out of bed, he tied it on again, adjusting it so it was sitting properly, like he remembered Bev showing him. Binding his chest again, he went to the long mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door and stared at his reflection.

He didn't like looking at the bandages on his chest, but it did help conceal his sex. He pulled his shirt on to hide the bandages, and that made him feel a bit better. He curled a hand around the shaft, moving it up and down slowly as if it were real. It wasn't real, of course, but it felt right. Ace liked the way it felt. He still wasn't sure he liked sex though. Well, no, he had enjoyed himself with Bev, that much was true. But it still meant exposing his imperfect body, even to Bev, and it just reminded him of how badly he wanted to change it. It wasn't right, it wasn't even right for sex, and he just wanted to curl up and die. There was no way he'd ever have what he wanted. He was never going to get lucky like Bev. Wiping an errant tear from his eye, he removed the dildo and crawled back into bed, clutching the pillow close as he began to cry. The distress he felt at having the wrong body came crashing down upon him, suffocating any hope he might have had.

"Hey, you alright?"

Ace didn't turn around as he heard Bev enter. "I won't be alright till I look like a proper boy. But that'll never happen. I'm stuck this way till I die."

Bev sat down beside him and rested a hand on his back. "It won't be like that, not forever. That's kinda why I wanted to see you yesterday. I was going to tell you then, but we got called to dinner. I want to help you."

"What'd you mean, you wanna help? I mean, I appreciate what you and yer mam are doing for me, and last night was one of the happiest nights I've ever had, but it's over now and the only present I ever wanted was a male body, and none of you can give me that," Ace said.

"Oh, yes I can. Come here, sit up. I got another present for you," Bev said.

Ace looked surprised. "Really? What kind of present?"

Bev reached into the top drawer of the bedside table and took out a small bottle, some syringes, and some swabs. Bev showed him the bottle. "You know what this is, right?"

It took a moment for Ace to realise what he was showing him. He sat up in amazement and reached for it tentatively. "That's not - how did you get that? I thought you went - every week, you said, you had to go in to get it done. Are you allowed to do it yourself now?"

"Figured since I'm away so much, and I can't always get back in time, it's just easier this way. It's not like I can just rock up anywhere and get my shots. Took a while to convince him to let me self-inject, though, and he wouldn't let me do it till I'd proved I could do it correctly, but it's been a great help. I can just take it with me if I know I'm going to be away. Got a letter that says I need it and everything, just in case anyone gets suspicious."

"So why are you showing me all this?" Ace said.

"Because I want you to have it too. Strictly speaking, I shouldn't be offering this to you at all, but I know it'll help you more than harm you till you can sort yourself out enough for them to let you start treatment too. You need this, and I'm willing to share. And before you look panicky, mum knows too. I wouldn't have done this if she'd said no. I'm actually a couple of days late as I figured it'd be easier to synch our shots up so I can help you with it till you learn how to do it yourself. I'm already on a lower dose anyway, just so he doesn't get a surprise if my levels come back lower than he'd expected, and so my supplies don't run out too soon, since until you get your own, my prescription is the only way you're going to get this and I don't want anyone noticing I'm going through more than usual," Bev said as he prepared a syringe for himself.

"You're offering me testosterone? Really? Why would you do that? Surely people will notice the changes," Ace said.

"You're young enough to get away with it. You barely look 16, you know. They'll just assume a late puberty or something. I know you're already seeing a doctor, and I'm so glad you're finally getting some help, but I figured this might at least make you feel better while you begin to sort yourself out. You still don't know when you'll be allowed to start treatment?" Bev said.

Ace shook his head, disappointed. "No, not yet. She still wants to figure out what I've got, so she can figure out what treatment to give me. I've tried to tell her to just let me start getting my shots, and then figure out the rest after that, because I know being able to transition will help more than her pills will, but she's not convinced. She has her own way of doing things, and wants to rule all these other things out first. It's daft, but at least she's being thorough, and she listens to me, y'know? Like, I ain't never had a doctor who actually listens to me before. She doesn't just dismiss me for being daft."

"Well, that's part of her job. Though she clearly doesn't listen to you if she's not letting you have hormones yet, but she seems alright. She sounds better than some of the ones out there, anyway. Now, do you really want this? It's only a low dose, so the changes will be slower, but you'll get there eventually. I just don't want you to expect instantaneous results. Like, it won't turn you male overnight," Bev said.

Ace reached for the syringe and stared at the clear liquid inside. There it was, the thing he'd been craving his whole life, and Bev was offering it to him when no one else would. He could finally stop hating his body so much as he watched it transform. And yet, he was still nervous. He had known testosterone would have to be injected, and he still had some remnant fear of medical treatment from when he was at the clinic. What if it made him sick? If he had to do this secretly, what would he do if it went wrong? How could he go to therapy knowing he wasn't supposed to be taking it in the first place? What would it even do to him, apart from turn him into a boy? What would change? Would he still bleed? Would it make his voice different? Would it get rid of his breasts?

"I dunno, won't my doctor know I'm taking it? How'm I supposed to hide it from her? You sure this will work?" Ace said after a while.

"It's your call, Ace. I figured it might make it easier, relieve some of the stress you're going through, so you can focus on what's important. As I said, it's a low dose, and you might not notice anything significant for a few months, but it's something, right?" Bev said.

In the end, Ace couldn't say no. To turn down the one thing that would make him happy was not something he was capable of doing. He watched Bev's every move as he gave himself his own shot before doing the same for Ace. His thigh hurt a little afterwards, but it went away fairly quickly. He wanted to cry. He finally had what he needed, and he was more than grateful for Bev's help.

"I can't believe you'd do this for me. Why would you help me? No one ever wanted to help me before," Ace said, wiping his tears away.

Bev brought him into a warm hug. "Guys like us have to stick together, yeah? Besides, my mum adores you. It was her suggestion that I share my testosterone with you, and we worked out together how we could manage it so no one would notice. I know what it's like. I understand you in a way no one else does. That's why I want to help you."

Ace held him tight, unable to stop crying as he whispered his thanks. Bev held him back, knowing he'd made the right decision. The system be damned if it wouldn't take care of Ace when he was crying out for help.

 


End file.
